


Catch and Release

by imitateslife



Series: It Takes a Village: Dadyard AU [3]
Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Chapman would give his left leg to be a Funn, Complete, Dadyard, Family, Family focused, Gen, M/M, Podfic Friendly, Sequel to The Greatest Undertaking, Single Dad AU, chapyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Calliope's first summer with her family at Funn Funerals ought to be an exciting time, but when a fight with Antigone sends her flying to Chapman's for an internship, it seems as if Calliope and Rudyard aren't going to get the summer they hoped for. To make matters worse, as Chapman rallies Piffling Vale for the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament, it becomes very clear to Calliope that her new mentor might only want to get closer to her dad. Can she patch things up with Antigone and stop Chapman before it's too late?
Relationships: Antigone Funn & Rudyard Funn, Calliope & Antigone Funn, Calliope & Georgie Crusoe, Calliope & Rudyard Funn, Eric Chapman & Antigone Funn, Eric Chapman & Calliope, Eric Chapman & Georgie Crusoe, Eric Chapman & Lady Templar, Eric Chapman & Rudyard Funn, Eric Chapman/Lady Templar, Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Antigone Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Rudyard Funn
Series: It Takes a Village: Dadyard AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838578
Comments: 162
Kudos: 84





	1. In Which Rudyard and Chapman Help Each Other

The promise of summer hung heavy in the air as the sun made its first appearance all week. Rudyard Funn sat alone on the main floor of his funeral parlor, enjoying some quiet. Downstairs, his daughter, Calliope, was interning with her “Auntigone”. When six o’clock came, Rudyard and Calliope’s plans for the summer holidays could begin. True, death never took a holiday, and Rudyard could be called back to work at any moment, there was something tantalizing about the prospect of spending a day on the beach with Calliope and pretending that they could go on like this forever. She was ten already and Rudyard had only just gotten custody of her. He promised Georgie that he wasn’t trying to make up for lost time, but they both knew he was lying. Rudyard sighed but didn’t have time to relax. The telephone rang. He picked it up.

“Now, lo-” He cleared his throat and shuffled through his paperwork for the cue card Georgie had written him when Funn Funerals changed its slogan. Robotically, he read, “Good morning-slash-afternoon. Funn Funerals, where our family takes care of yours.”

“Glad to see you’re practicin’,” Georgie teased on the other line. 

Rudyard scowled.

“Now, look here, Georgie, if you’re only going to call to see if I’m practicing the new slogan-”

“Actually, I’m callin’ with official business,” Georgie said. “Eric has just left Village Hall.”

“I didn’t ask you to spy on Eric Chapman,” Rudyard said. “But I’m glad to see you’re taking initiative-”

“Sir, he’s comin’ to Funn Funerals to talk to you.”

“He… what?”

“I can’t say why. One minute, Eric was talkin’ to Mayor Desmond, and the next, he said he needed to talk to you. I just thought you should be prepared in case-”

“Hello, Rudyard!”

“Chapman!”

“Good luck, sir,” Georgie said quickly before hanging up the phone.

Rudyard held the receiver and stared at his rival, standing in his entryway and smiling. The sunlight gleamed in Chapman’s blond hair and a smile stretched across his lips as he looked at Rudyard. Admittedly, Rudyard had found it harder to hate Chapman over the course of the last few months, though he certainly did try. He told himself - and would gladly tell Chapman if he asked - that he simply no longer had time for their rivalry the way he used to before he was a single father. No one needed to point out that Calliope was extremely self-sufficient for Rudyard to make that excuse, of course. It was better than admitting the truth. Since Calliope’s mother died and left Rudyard custody of their daughter, Chapman had made himself very useful, perhaps even a little eager to help out. Rudyard wasn’t used to anyone, least of all Eric Chapman, wanting to help him out. He wasn’t about to get too comfortable with this change in the status quo. Rudyard glared across the room at Chapman, who at least had the social grace to look a little sheepish. Perfect pink dusted the apples of Chapman’s cheeks. In one hand, he held a folder. His other hand smoothed down his tie as if it needed to be smoothed out at all. Rudyard arched a brow. 

“Afternoon, Chapman,” he said, aiming for the civility he’d been practicing since rebranding Funn Funerals. “What can the island’s only family-owned and -operated funeral home do for you today?”

“I actually wanted to speak with you, Rudyard, on behalf of the village council.”

“I assured Mayor Desmond Desmond that we passed our annual inspection with only mild skepticism. I have the certificate to prove it-”

“No, Rudyard, it isn’t about Funn Funerals,” Chapman said. “Although congratulations on passing your-”

“Save your patronizing. You said it isn’t about the funeral home. What is it about, then?”

“The Thirtieth Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament is coming up,” Chapman said. “And the council was wondering, well, Mayor Desmond and I were thinking that it was the kind of momentous occasion you’d want to document for the archives.”

Since becoming the village historian, Rudyard’s archive project had largely been about sorting through dusty memorabilia and old documents. It was quiet, repetitive work, which meant that Rudyard quite enjoyed it. No one else had taken much of an interest in his work as village historian, though. Antigone never wanted to hear about it and the one time he’d taken Calliope, they’d gotten chased by a roost of bats living in the supply closet. She’d wanted to go back since, but only because she hoped for another opportunity to lecture her father about the proper way to interact with urbanized wildlife. Rudyard had come to the last few months of village council meetings, but somehow, when Georgie announced the schedule, he was never on it. It wasn’t her fault, of course, but Rudyard didn’t particularly delight in giving up a night at home with his child to be ignored by the same people who had called him “Councillor Funt” for eleven years, despite very well knowing his name. Every now and then, when he had a particularly momentous find, Georgie or Chapman would insist he be allowed to talk, despite Reverend Wavering’s polite disinterest and Lady Templar’s heckling. Mayor Desmond allowed it with the baffled magnanimity he allowed anything, however odd, that Georgie or Chapman wanted. Needless to say, Rudyard had his suspicions who might have put the idea into the mayor’s head.

“If Georgie thinks I need a pity project-”

“She doesn’t,” Chapman said. “I suggested-”

“You? I need your pity even less!”

“Rudyard, it isn’t pity. You’d be doing me a favor actually-”

“We wouldn’t want that!”

“You’d be doing the _village_ a favor, then.” 

Rudyard fell silent. He didn’t hate the village but since Eric Chapman arrived to Piffling Vale, his neighbors had made it abundantly clear that they hated Rudyard. He didn’t owe them anything, not really. Chewing his tongue, he thought of the best way he could tell Eric Chapman to stick it. Instead, as the silent seconds ticked on, Chapman filled them with a promise Rudyard couldn’t turn down:

“You could show Calliope what it’s like to document history in the making. Just think how happy she’ll be to go on this adventure with you.”

“I wouldn’t call it an adventure,” Rudyard murmured. “Mayor Desmond banned the deep sea fishing tournament nearly eleven years ago. It’s just been in a kiddie pool in his yard ever since.”

“Well, that’s the reason this is a momentous occasion,” Chapman said. “For the first year, we’ll be hosting the fishing tournament in Lake Chapman.”

“Oh! I see! And you’ll just use this as an opportunity to advertise for Chapman’s-”

“No. Everyone knows where to find me if they need me,” Chapman said. “I just thought it’d be a good excuse for families in the community to come together and enjoy themselves with a little friendly competition. A little sun, some fantastic catches, and maybe an evening under the stars afterward.”

Rudyard made an uncertain noise. 

“I might rather… participate this year,” Rudyard said, looking over his shoulder, towards the mortuary door. “Calliope might want to.”

“Of course.” Chapman deflated a little. “You could do both…”

“I’ll consider it.” 

“Fantastic!” Chapman said as if Rudyard had said ‘yes’. “There’s one more thing, Rudyard…”

Chapman opened the folder and looked at the paperwork inside it. Rudyard crossed the room to peer over his shoulder.

“For the last eleven years, you were in charge of village culture and events,” he said. “I was wondering if you wanted to, maybe, have a brainstorming session? We could go back to the cafe, pop open a couple of non-alcoholic ciders and-”

“Terribly sorry, Chapman, but as you can see, it clearly says a man named Councillor Funt was in charge of that,” Rudyard said, emphasizing the “t” in “Funt. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“ _Rudyard_ …”

Rudyard sighed.

“Lady Templar took over the fishing tournament shortly after Mayor Desmond banned deep sea fishing,” Rudyard said. “I haven’t been in charge of the fishing tournament for a very, very long time.”

“You’re joking. Vivienne was in charge of a fishing tournament?”

“Well, it was _supposed_ to be a fishing tournament. It quickly became cocktails and canapes around a kiddie pool in Mayor Desmond’s lawn.” 

“Ah.”

“Yes, it lost a little something once the threat of mortal peril was traded in for high society trappings,” Rudyard said, shrugging. “But if you want any kind of help, you might try asking her.”

“Right. But if I’d rather ask you?” 

“I don’t think Lady Templar will like that much,” Rudyard said. “Besides, I have never pulled off an event that people genuinely enjoyed themselves at. Not my forte, I’m afraid.”

“You had great ideas for the village fete!” 

“I had ‘traditional’ ideas for the village fete if I remember correctly.” Rudyard smiled venomously. “We all saw how it turned out in the end.”

“So you got a little overzealous-”

“I would have been appropriately zealous if you had never-”

“Unbelievable! Rudyard, you are, without a doubt- Do you smell something burning?”

The mortuary door banged open. Black smoke billowed out of the doorway as, coughing, Calliope and Antigone tumbled out of the room. Calliope, in particular, was covered with ash and dust. Behind her, Antigone cursed in her usual, semi-coherent way as she prodded Calliope forward, steering her away from danger and towards Rudyard. 

“Take! Your! Child!” Antigone hissed. Rudyard obliged, gripping Calliope’s small shoulders gently. 

“Blimey! Antigone, what happened?” Chapman asked. 

“It was an accident!” Calliope blubbered, looking up at Rudyard. “I was just trying to help-”

“I don’t _need_ that kind of help!” Antigone shot back. “I asked you to clean out the sink and I turned my back for five minutes and you had your head in the cremulator-”

“I finished the sink! I thought if I could just get the cremulator working again, we could open a market for pet funerals-”

“It’s not your job to open up markets! Christ! Calliope, you’re ten!”

“Dad thinks it’s a good idea! I told him about it last night!”

“Rudyard-!”

“Now, look here-!”

He had told Calliope it was a good idea last night. He did remember that. He timed her from the doorway as she brushed her teeth before bed and tried to talk around a mouthful of toothpaste. 

“I have a hundred ideas for Funn Funerals!” she had said, offering him her notebook from the bedside table as he followed her into her room. “Green burials, sky burials, pet burials-!”

“Pet burials?” Rudyard read his daughter’s jagged chicken scratch with a fond smile. There were even potential pricing for the packages, based on the pet’s size. “I’m impressed. One day, you’re going to run this business with twice the efficiency and skill your Auntigone and I do.” 

Calliope had glowed pink and crawled under the covers. When Rudyard left and shut off the lights, he hadn’t realized these were her plans for today. He supposed he ought to have checked for that in Calliope’s journal. Next time, he would. 

“Calliope, you can’t antagonize your aunt like this,” Rudyard said softly. “She’s very sensitive-”

“I can’t believe you!” Antigone pinched Rudyard’s arm until he yelped. “From now on, your daughter stays out of my mortuary until she shows she can follow instructions.”

“I think that should be my decision,” Rudyard said.

“No! It shouldn’t! If it were up to you, she’d be running this place single-handedly in eight years, just like you were.”

“Well, ideally, we wouldn’t be dead, but yes-”

“She’s banned from the mortuary, Rudyard, and that’s final. I need my privacy!”

“And where, exactly, is Calliope going to learn to embalm?”

Chapman cleared his throat and the three Funns turned to look at him. A smile lit his blue eyes and Rudyard wondered what there was to smile about. Three scowls regarded him. 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Chapman said, “but maybe, if you’re concerned about Calliope learning the tricks of the trade, she could help out in my mortuary. Just until she’s allowed in Antigone’s again.”

“Absolutely not,” Antigone said. “That won’t teach her anything!”

“Excuse me, but I’m a perfectly accomplished mortician,” Chapman said. “I may not have scented embalming fluids, but I passed my inspection with flying colors.”

“Oh, of course, you did.” Antigone rolled her eyes. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I don’t like to put limitations on myself,” Chapman said. 

“That much is obvious,” Antigone snapped. “You can’t just swoop in here and pluck Calliope out of our funeral home and think you’ve saved the day.”

“I just want to help!”

“Rudyard, tell him-”

Rudyard’s scowl had softened. His lips now formed a slack “O” as he looked at Chapman. Anyone who looked at him now could tell he was trying to calculate something. 

“Calliope,” he said, “do you want to intern with Mr. Chapman until your aunt comes to her senses?”

“Jesus wept!” 

Calliope looked up at her father curiously. Her stubborn crying subsided and she rubbed her eye. 

“Do you want me to intern with Mr. Chapman?” she asked, voice wavering very close to fresh sadness. “Dad?”

“You’ll still help me with the upstairs portion of Funn Funerals, of course,” he said. “But you really ought to learn embalming from somewhere and if Mr. Chapman is willing to teach you…”

“It’d be my honor.”

“Let’s hope you always see it that way,” Rudyard said, looking from Calliope to Chapman very seriously. “Entrusting someone with my daughter is the highest honor I could ever think of.”

“I know.”

“Mornings with us and afternoons with Chapman’s, then,” Rudyard said. “And since it’s after one, you two should go across the square and get started.”

“Let me get my backpack!” Calliope hugged her dad, smiling. “Thank you! Thank you both!”

She disappeared upstairs for a few moments. The adults could hear her shuffling around upstairs. When she came back down, she jumped the bottom three steps and looked up at Chapman. 

“Ready when you are, Mr. Chapman!” 

“Right.” Chapman blinked. “So, Rudyard, do you think we could at least discuss the tournament sometime?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m a bit understaffed for the rest of the afternoon, lots of paperwork to do,” Rudyard said. “Calliope, have fun with Mr. Chapman and be back in time for dinner.”

Confused goodbyes were exchanged and Rudyard watched from the door as his daughter followed Eric Chapman across the square. He could feel Antigone hovering over his shoulder, seething.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” she asked. “You just gave your daughter everything she wanted after she almost set our home on fire and you just gave Eric Chapman your only child for half of every day.”

“Finally, I’ll have some peace and quiet around here,” Rudyard said, smiling and waving until Calliope turned around to face Chapman’s. He lowered his hand and glowered at Antigone. “I was not about to spend the entire summer mediating your fights with Calliope.”

“You don’t mediate anything-”

“Georgie and I have been keeping tallies. So far she’s broken up seventeen squabbles between you two and I’ve broken up twelve.”

“You can’t prove that.”

Rudyard crossed to the desk and pulled out a legal pad with tally marks on it to prove his point. He sank back into his chair.

“You two have been arguing since school let out for the summer,” he said. 

“She thinks she can come into my mortuary and tell me how to do things!” 

“She has some great ideas-”

“She’s ten!”

“Which means she needs a mentor and if you’re not willing to do it, at least Eric Chapman and his savior complex were in the right place at the right time.” 

Rudyard flicked through some of the papers on his desk - bills, schedules, a game of noughts and crosses he’d been playing with Madeline earlier in the day. Antigone did not leave. Rudyard could hear her breathing in a way that said she was moments away from strangling him. When it was clear his twin sister wasn’t about to leave, Rudyard looked up at her. 

“Besides,” he said, “by the time you miss Calliope’s bossy, overzealous nature, she will have set Chapman’s ablaze and obliterated the competition for us.”

Though it sounded more like the Rudyard Antigone knew, she didn’t seem convinced. Rudyard didn’t feel convinced. While he was sure that if any of them was capable of incinerating Chapman’s and getting away with it, it was Calliope, he wasn’t so certain that was what he wanted. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to hate Chapman since Cordelia’s funeral. He wanted to. He tried. But in total earnestness, he hadn’t hated Chapman much at all until he saw how willingly his own daughter crossed the square with Chapman for an internship. At least as her father, he had the right to recall her home at any moment. Clicking a pen, he frowned back at the game of noughts and crosses, trying to see how it was he had lost two out of the three rounds in a row. Antigone still didn’t leave him alone. 

“You can’t reward Calliope every time she’s out of line, Rudyard,” she said. “Even if she’s a brilliant child, she needs-”

“I’ll remind you that I’m her father,” Rudyard said. Madeline climbed back on the desk and he reset the game board. “I don’t need you to tell me how to parent my child. You may want to go downstairs and make sure the mortuary isn’t on fire before Reverend Wavering turns up with a bucket of sand.” 

Antigone threw her hands up and cursed Rudyard to the high heavens under her breath, trudging back to her mortuary. Once alone with Madeline, Rudyard looked at her and sighed.

“You think I’m doing the right thing, don’t you, Madeline?” he asked. 

Madeline squeaked. 

“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking,” Rudyard said. “Do you want to go first then, or shall I?”


	2. In Which Battle Lines Are Drawn

Growing up, Calliope had always admired Funn Funerals. The dark Victorian building cut an imposing figure in the village square. Even before she had known that Rudyard Funn was her father - and long before he knew that he was her father - she fantasized about living there one day. When the building which was now Chapman’s had been a quaint, little antique shop, Calliope would sit on the steps and admire Funn Funerals while her mother went shopping. 

“I’m going to live there one day,” she informed her mother. She was six and Stanley Carmichael had kicked her out of the antique shop yet again for setting up the porcelain figurines as if they were performing ancient Celtic burial rites. Cordelia smiled tightly and looked across the square. 

“Funn Funerals?” she asked, sitting down beside her daughter. Her shopping bags made noise as she settled in. “Why do you say that?”

“I love it,” Calliope said. “The-”

She gestured. Cordelia smiled more naturally.

“The gables,” she said. “Yes, they’re lovely.”

“And the windows!” Calliope said. “Douglas says it’s haunted.” 

“Has Douglas ever been in the funeral home?” Cordelia asked. Calliope shook her head. “Well, I have, and it’s not haunted. The Funn twins have lived there since long before I moved to Piffling Vale and they do a very important job for the island. You know your Celtic burial for Mr. Carmichael’s figurines? That’s what they do, more or less.” 

“I’m going to do that, then,” Calliope said. “And I’m going to live there.”

She hadn’t known then that she was _right_ or that her mother would not live to see her move into Funn Funerals or meet her father properly. At first, Calliope wished she could tell her mother that Funn Funerals was all she had dreamed of and more. She loved the rickety staircases and the attic full of treasures and the basement mortuary that filled her with delight. She loved the people in it. Her dad and Auntigone and Georgie and Madeline made her laugh and kept her on her toes and she adored them all. She loved building coffins with Georgie and embalming bodies with Auntigone and planning services with her dad, but she hadn’t anticipated that Funn Funerals would not be the quiet, stately facade it had presented her entire childhood. It was lively and loud and sometimes a little mean. Dad and Auntigone fought a lot. Georgie seemed to keep the place running. Auntigone didn’t want to hear Calliope’s ideas, even if Dad was encouraging. Truthfully, she’d taken Mr. Chapman’s offer because she knew it would upset Auntigone and maybe even force her to apologize. Now that Calliope and Mr. Chapman were across the square, Calliope was already a little homesick. 

Chapman’s was everything Funn Funerals was not: light, airy, and modern. Funn Funerals was a tall building, but Chapman’s was taller and had wings upon wings, making it feel less like a funeral home and more like a tourist destination. Calliope didn’t say this to Mr. Chapman, though, because it was very nice of him to offer to teach her embalming, even if he was a pawn in her plan and just didn’t know it. 

“If you’ll follow me to the lift,” Mr. Chapman said. “I’ll show you where the magic happens!”

They stepped into a lift, which played cheerful music. Calliope looked at the rows and rows of buttons and watched as Mr. Chapman pressed the one labeled “M”. 

“You know, I didn’t expect your dad to let you start today,” he said conversationally. “It’s not like Rudyard to go down without a bit of a fight.”

Calliope’s throat tightened. She hadn’t thought of that, but Mr. Chapman had a point. When she’d once asked her father if Eric Chapman was his friend, he’d said “no”. Since then, not much had changed between them, not as far as Calliope could see. They smiled a little more in each other’s company, but Calliope wasn’t sure if that made them friends. Her dad still delighted in fighting with Mr. Chapman yet he’d been so keen on handing Calliope off to him. As the lift doors opened, Calliope bit her lip. 

Chapman’s was really everything Funn Funerals was not. The automatic lights flooded Calliope’s vision almost blindingly. Shiny new tables and coolers gleamed as if Mr. Chapman intended to do multiple embalmings at once. Calliope went to take a step forward and explore the wonderland set before her. Mr. Chapman grasped her shoulder and tugged her back. 

“Shoe covers,” he reminded her, “Then we’ll go over safety procedures, wash up, and get started.”

“Mr. Chapman, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’ve been interning with Auntigone for months. I know how to behave in the mortuary.” 

“Right. It’s just that Antigone may run her mortuary very differently than I do.”

“Different isn’t a bad thing,” Calliope said. “Auntigone is brilliant.”

“No one is disputing that,” Mr. Chapman said. “Your aunt is an excellent mortician and artist. But here at Chapman’s-”

“I know. You put the fun in funerals.”

“What I was going to say that here at Chapman’s, all of our employees have to go over safety protocols. And I want you to be safe. Your father would hate it if he thought you weren’t safe with me.”

Calliope chewed her lip. Then, slowly, she reached for the box of shoe covers affixed to the wall and slid one over each shoe. 

Back at Funn Funerals, the quiet afternoon was far too quiet for Rudyard, who was bereft of both daughter and assistant as he had sent one behind enemy lines and the other worked at the mayor’s office today. He thought he’d get more work done without the bickering Calliope and Antigone got up to and had swiftly been proven right. Now that he had planned their only funeral for the week, restructured the budget twice, and cleaned the front of the funeral parlor so thoroughly that the baseboards gleamed, there was nothing else to do. Antigone had not resurfaced from the mortuary and Madeline, though content to be good company for a while, said something about needing to mail off her next chapters to her editor and disappeared into the skirting board. Anxiety gnawed at Rudyard’s gut. What had he done in order to buy these few moments of peace? He’d all but given his daughter over to Eric Chapman. What if, upon her return, she had switched sides? What if she had a new hero and his name was Eric Chapman? Rudyard could stomach loss of respect and fondness from anyone except his daughter. Bearing that in mind, he raced to the mortuary door and began to rap frantically against the wood. 

“Antigone! Open up!”

“No!” Antigone growled through the door. “The next time I’m opening up, I’ll be the one on the embalming table. I’m sure your daughter will just love filling my veins with fluids-”

“The door, Antigone,” Rudyard said. He seized the handle and gave it a jiggle at almost the same instant Antigone grabbed the other side. Rudyard leaned his shoulder into it. “I want to talk to you.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Antigone held the door shut. “You never want to usually.”

“Antigone.” Rudyard grunted and rammed his shoulder into the mortuary door again. Once. Twice. “Open- up- Wah!”

The door gave way and knocked Rudyard and Antigone both off their feet. The twins tumbled down the dark stairs, yelling at each other the whole way until they landed on something cool and damp. 

“Your floor is disgusting,” Rudyard said. “I’m covered in… What am I covered in?” 

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Antigone said, disentangling herself from Rudyard. “Are you hurt?”

“My kneecaps-”

“You’re fine,” Antigone said. 

She stood and walked over to the light switch. The lights stuttered on, buzzing and flickering and not providing Rudyard with very much light at all. The soft yellowish cast around the room added to the overall unsettling look of the place as Antigone’s tools - some new and some unsettlingly old - gleamed in the tray. The new coolers looked out of place, but Rudyard had to admit that the mortuary was improving, slowly and unsteadily, as they had more funds to pour back into the business. He wouldn’t say it, but he wanted to thank Calliope for that.

“What do you want, Rudyard?” Antigone asked. She moved to the body laid out on the embalming table. “Your daughter’s ‘expansion into new markets’ has cost me most of the day already.”

“It smells like a barbeque down here,” Rudyard said, wrinkling his nose and standing up. Though most of the smoke had cleared, the room was still hazy and he had to blink to keep his eyes from itching.

“That’ll be from the cremulator,” Antigone said. “Did you come down here merely to annoy me?”

“No,” Rudyard said. “Not exactly. May I sit with you?”

“Fine.” 

Antigone gestured and Rudyard pulled up one of the two, rickety stools. He perched atop it and watched in silence as his sister drained the corpse of Mrs. Locksley of blood. His stomach flipped. This was not his element and had never been his element. Rudyard was more at home organizing schedules and building coffins and telling living relatives to be quiet during services. Calliope quite liked this sort of thing and had been in awe of Antigone since moving to Funn Funerals. Rudyard wasn’t sure _why_ and he wasn’t sure if he was jealous, but after watching the blow-up earlier, he wondered why it was that Antigone didn’t appreciate Calliope’s enthusiasm for this macabre branch of their work. Wasn’t it something they could share? Didn’t Antigone always speak about wanting to be appreciated? Rudyard must’ve been frowning because Antigone set her tools down noisily. 

“You can’t just sit over there and sigh,” she said. “Just say what you want to say and get out of my mortuary.”

“I don’t understand why you banned Calliope from the mortuary,” Rudyard said. “I would have thought for certain that having an apprentice was exactly the sort of thing you’d want.”

“What do you know about what I want?” Antigone asked, half-moaning. “You never bother to ask!”

“Do you not want an apprentice, then? I thought for certain since you’re always going on about wanting someone to value your work and appreciate you-” 

“Shut up, Rudyard! Just shut up! It isn’t about what I want!”

“It isn’t?”

“No!”

“But what I wanted was-”

“It isn’t about what _you_ want either!” Antigone snapped. “Christ! Not everything is about you or me! It can’t be like that anymore and you know it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“Your daughter nearly burned down our home! And what do you do? Instead of revoking her mortuary privileges like a responsible father, you reward her by handing her off to Eric Chapman and his fancy mortuary and his state-of-the-art technology!”

“Now, look here, I regret doing that as much as you do-”

“No, you don’t! If you did, you wouldn’t have bloody well gone on about finally getting peace and quiet around here.”

“You’re the one who has been picking fights with a ten-year-old for the last two weeks!” Rudyard snapped. “Maybe if you hadn’t fought with Calliope, I wouldn’t have had to send her to study with a different mortician!”

“Maybe if you didn’t indulge her in every single one of her whims, she’d be disciplined enough to work in my mortuary!”

The twins fell silent. Antigone, glaring at her brother, picked up her tools and again resumed the process of draining Mrs. Locksley’s arterial fluids. 

“Do you think she’s terrified over there?” he asked. “Alone, with Eric Chapman, and his bright lights and-”

“I’m sure she’s having the time of her life, pitching all of her ‘great ideas’ to your new best friend,” Antigone hissed. “And I’m sure, because he’s Eric Chapman, he’ll find a way to use them to prove he is the better mortician once and for all.”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, “he may be capable of stealing Calliope’s brilliant ideas and utterly destroying us financially, but no one can say he’s the better mortician.”

“People already say it,” Antigone said. “All of Piffling loves him for putting the fun in funerals. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before your daughter loves him, too.”

Rudyard inclined his head noncommittally. 

“I didn’t realize Eric Chapman was your rival,” he said softly, appreciatively. 

“Eric Chapman made himself my rival when he took my apprentice away,” Antigone said. “I’m going to win her back, even if her moron father keeps getting in my way.”

“Well, her moron father has been getting in your way for thirty-five years,” Rudyard said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something.”

Antigone smiled. It was a shaky, self-conscious, near-tears smile. It faded in place of her familiar scowl, but both warmed Rudyard’s chest equally. 

“You really do need to start disciplining her, though,” she said as she began to suture the incision on Mrs. Locksley’s neck. “She’s going to walk all over us one day.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Rudyard said with a sigh. He slid off the stool and walked towards the base of the stairs. “Oh, Antigone?”

“Hmm?”

“Eric Chapman has asked me to plan the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament,” Rudyard said, bracing for the yelling he expected. “I haven’t said yes.”

“Do you… Do you want to say ‘yes’?”

“I didn’t, but it’s so quiet upstairs without… well, without you and Calliope arguing and I just thought… maybe it might not be such a bad idea to keep our enemies close, as they say.”

“Hmm.” Antigone didn’t sound convinced. “Do what you want, Rudyard. You always do, anyway.” 

Blinking as though slapped - although maybe from the smoke - Rudyard stared at his sister. Already, she was bent in consternation over her work and he could tell he wouldn’t get anything helpful out of her. 

“Right,” he muttered. “I’ll get to it, then.”

“Turn the lights out when you go.”

And so, flicking the lights off, Rudyard stumbled through the darkness until safely upstairs. Then, he straightened his now-slightly-soiled shirt and marched across the square.

If Rudyard could see Calliope in the minutes before he walked into Chapman’s, he would know that she was neither terrified nor having the time of her life with Eric Chapman. So far, he’d given her a safety briefing via video training - a video of himself, filmed specifically for the occasion he has an apprentice - and had told her to stop running in the mortuary twice, caught her sniffing his embalming fluids with a disappointed look on her face, and was now fielding a round of twenty questions. 

“When did you decide to be a mortician, Mr. Chapman?” Calliope asked as she cleaned scalpels under his overly-watchful eye. 

“Oh, you know… it was a long time ago,” Chapman said. 

“Did you have a mentor?”

“Of course.”

“What was he like?”

“I’ll tell you all about him one day…”

Calliope had probably asked significantly more than twenty questions but had precious few insights about the man who had volunteered to be her mentor while her Auntigone simmered. Calliope missed the matter-of-fact way Auntigone answered her questions, all of them, even if she answered them with oft-thinning patience. Calliope set the scalpel she was cleaning into the drying rack. 

“Why did you volunteer to be _my_ mentor, Mr. Chapman?”

She regarded him with serious, dark eyes that very clearly resembled her father’s and her aunt’s. Struck by the uncanniness of it all, Chapman fumbled for his words. 

“Oh… you know…”

“I don’t. If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“I admire your family, Calliope,” he said. “Your father, your aunt… they’re brilliant in their own way.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Calliope picked up another scalpel and began to rinse, eyeing Chapman carefully. “You were around a lot during Mum’s funeral.”

“Was I?”

“You were very kind to us… especially to Dad,” she said. “Even when he wasn’t always kind to you.”

“I just wanted to help out…”

“Why?” 

Chapman tinged a faint pink. He looked like he was about to say something, just casting about for the right words. Before he could snag them, however, the door to his lift pinged open.

“Chapman!”

Chapman turned around to face Rudyard as he stepped off the lift and into the mortuary. 

“Rudyard! What a pleasant surprise!” Chapman said. “Calliope and I are just cleaning up.”

Rudyard took a step into the mortuary and at the same time, Calliope and Chapman both yelled, “Shoe covers!” Grudgingly, Rudyard paused to yank a pair over his shoes. 

“Now, look here, Chapman,” Rudyard said. “I didn’t come all the way across the square to watch you and Calliope clean up. I know what goes on in a mortuary.” 

“Right-”

“It occurred to me that here you are, doing this favor for my daughter-”

“Oh, it’s no trouble-”

“- and that I don’t want to owe you anything-”

“Happy to do it, Rudyard-”

“- which is why I _will_ help you organize the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament.”

“You will? Fantastic! Gosh, Rudyard, I-”

“Does that mean we _can’t_ fish together?” Calliope asked, interrupting the adults. 

“Of course, we can,” Rudyard said. “You, me, and your Auntigone…”

“Auntigone hates me,” Calliope said. She looked down at her plastic-covered trainers. 

“Now, look here, young lady-”

“Actually, Rudyard, you can’t compete if you’re helping run the contest,” Chapman said. “You’ll be judging. There are real fish in Lake Chapman and they’ll need to be measured to determine a winner-”

“The first year it’s on an actual lake and I can’t participate?” Calliope looked at her father, betrayed. “Dad…!”

“Don’t “Dad…!” me,” Rudyard said. “I’m sure Antigone will be glad to take you fishing-”

“Outside?”

“That is where the lake is,” Chapman said. 

“It’s like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Calliope huffed. She turned back to the tools in the sink and began to scrub. 

“Calliope…”

“That’s okay, Dad,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Chapman and I will have a fun summer interning together.”

By nightfall, you would have needed one of Antigone’s more dangerous tools to cut the tension in Funn Funerals. Calliope spoke so glowingly about Eric Chapman that Antigone had stabbed the table with the prongs of her fork and Rudyard had sawed his chicken into tiny, inedible pieces. Calliope didn’t seem to have eaten much of anything. If you asked any of the Funns, however, there was one thing they could all agree on: none of them could wait until Georgie Crusoe clocked in tomorrow morning. 


	3. In Which Georgie Finds Out What She Missed

Georgie arrived to Funn Funerals after a suspiciously good day at Mayor Desmond Desmond’s office. The mayor had rushed to her desk after Eric Chapman left, full of glee and childlike admiration.

“Miss Crusoe!” he announced as she set down the telephone. “We are going to have a  _ fishing tournament! _ ”

“That’s brilliant,” Georgie said. “I’m great at makin’ fishing lures.”

“Our 30th semi-annual fishing tournament!” Mayor Desmond continued eagerly. “I want you to set a village council meeting for tomorrow night. Round up all the usual players. By then, Eric is sure to have something wonderful planned!”

“Eric’s plannin’ the fishing tournament?” Georgie asked. She bit back her sarcastic response for the mayor’s sake. All that came out was a muttered, “ _ Brilliant. _ ”

“That’s what I thought!” Mayor Desmond said, missing Georgie’s vitriol entirely. “And on a real lake, too! This is the sort of thing they do in towns, you know…”

“Who was plannin’ these before?” Georgie asked as she added calling the village council to her day planner. 

“Oh, you know, Lady Templar picked it up these last few years. I will miss the happy hour she used to put on for us, but you don’t suppose we could organize an after-party?”

“Call village council... set meeting... discuss after-party potential,” Georgie said. “Yep. Got it, Mr. Mayor.”

“Thank you, Miss Crusoe.” Mayor Desmond smiled at Georgie from underneath his mustache. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Georgie said. “Although I am at Funn Funerals durin’ the day tomorrow. I’ll be back for the council meeting, though.” 

“Excellent, excellent,” Mayor Desmond turned to go back to his office. “I’m looking forward to it, Miss Crusoe! Our first proper fishing tournament since we banned deep-sea fishing competitions!” 

Georgie had more questions - specifically why deep-sea fishing had been banned when it sounded worlds better than happy hour with Lady Templar and lake fishing with Eric Chapman - but the Mayor disappeared into his office. When Reverend Wavering came by with lunch for his husband shortly after, Georgie apprised the vicar of the upcoming meeting and left them to it while she enjoyed her first stress-free lunch in a long time. She found herself sitting on the Delacroix’s counter, eating a yogurt, and watching as Jennifer sorted through cassettes of classical music to play while she was spending lunch with Georgie. 

“So, Miss Crusoe,” Jennifer said, teasingly brandishing her pen like a microphone, “How does it feel to be successfully keeping two of Piffling’s social institutions running single-handedly?”

Georgie pushed her girlfriend’s “microphone” away from her lips, smiling.

“Stop that,” she said. “It’s just good time management skills.” 

Jennifer shook her head and leaned back in her chair. 

“It’s still nice to have an inside scoop on what’s happening in Piffling’s most exciting and important places,” Jennifer teased. Then, more seriously, she said, “I won’t break the story on the 30th Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament until after your council meeting. Promise.” 

“Cheers,” Georgie said. She shoveled a pensive spoonful of yogurt into her mouth. “I dunno if I’d call village hall and Funn Funerals ‘social institutions’. I mean, village hall is more of a political entity - or somethin’ like that - and Funn Funerals is…”

Georgie shrugged again. 

“How is work at Funn Funerals going?” Jennifer asked, dropping the journalistic voice. “Ever since local orphan, Calliope Roach-Funn discovered her family and came to live with them at Funn Funerals, how would you describe the atmosphere?”

“Stop that.”

“I’m serious.” Jennifer switched tapes. “How are things?”

“Things are great.”

“Georgie…”

“No, I’m serious, Jenn. Things  _ are _ great. Cal’s amazing, Rudyard’s actually doin’ his job like he  _ enjoys it _ , and Antigone… Is gettin’ used to it. I think.”

Jennifer scoffed. 

“Gosh. It’s always something…”

Georgie sighed. 

“She and Cal have been pickin’ at each other since school let out,” she admitted “But it’s nothin’ Rudyard and I can’t handle. He’s a shockingly competent father and I’m great at smoothing out Antigone’s ruffled feathers.”

“Sounds like a well-oiled machine,” Jennifer said approvingly. 

“Finally,” Georgie said. She set her yogurt down and reached for her cola. Then, she toasted Jennifer. “Here’s to the first summer of peace I’ve had since I came to the island.”

“Cheers to that!”

The next morning, Georgie arrived to Funn Funerals and instantly knew she’d spoken too soon. Calliope sat in her father’s high-backed chair, sinking into the blue cushion and glowering at the telephone. Rudyard was nowhere to be seen. Antigone, too, appeared missing from the scene, though the faint hum of the embalming machine told Georgie where she might find Funn Funerals’ resident mortician. 

“Mornin’,” Georgie said a little cautiously.

“Welcome to Funn Funerals,” Calliope grumbled, “Pifflings only family-owned and -operated funeral home since the fifteenth century. How can our family serve yours?”

“Cal.”

“Georgie!”

Calliope snapped up. Springing from the chair, she launched herself into Georgie’s arms. She hugged her tightly. Georgie hugged Calliope back. 

“Where’s your dad?” she asked. 

Calliope rolled her eyes. 

“He’s across the square,” she said angrily. “Probably planning to sell me to Mr. Chapman for a reasonable price.”

“What?!” 

“Auntigone banished me from the mortuary,” Calliope explained, though Georgie found this explanation somewhat incomplete. “And Dad  _ said _ he liked my idea for pet funerals, but they’re not letting me do them. Instead, Dad handed me over to Mr. Chapman for an afternoon internship in Chapman’s mortuary. He also agreed to help Mr. Chapman with the fishing tournament, which means I can’t participate in it - not with Dad, anyways. And this morning, he went over to Chapman’s with a bunch of papers and-”

“Hang on, your dad is workin’ with Chapman…?”

Calliope nodded sullenly. 

“What the-”

The door to Funn Funerals chimed as it opened and two male voices that Georgie recognized, in theory, filled the air. 

“I’m just excited to see you excited about the fishing tournament,” Eric Chapman said, sounding dazed. 

Georgie watched him follow Rudyard inside and had to do a double-take. In the last few months, ever since Calliope moved in with the Funns, Rudyard had been pulling himself together, bit by bit. Today, though, it was like looking at a bodysnatcher. Rudyard’s hair was neatly combed. He appeared rested. His suit had yet to be fouled by a work-related accident. Chapman, of course, looked like he always did: bland, blond, and perfect. But Georgie recognized that look on his face all too well. He was enthralled by… something.  _ Someone _ . When had he started looking at Rudyard like that? When had anybody? Thinking back, Georgie remembered Cordelia Roach’s funeral preparations. Chapman had been involved every bloody step of the way. He hadn’t really stopped getting involved since, had he? Georgie folded her arms. Rudyard, of course, moved into the house obliviously. 

“Good morning, Calliope, Georgie,” he said. In his arms, he carried old-looking papers, some in yellowed folders, and others rolled up like scrolls. “Mr. Chapman will be joining us for breakfast. He and I have some things to go over for the fishing tournament…”

“I don’t mean to impose,” Chapman said. Georgie scowled.  _ As if. _ “I offered to meet up with Rudyard later in the day, but I don’t want to cut into your internship, Calliope, and we need to have this ready in time for the village council meeting tonight.”

“It’s no imposition,” Rudyard said, disappearing into the kitchen. His voice carried across the house. “We’re delighted to have you, Chapman. How do you take your eggs?”

Before Chapman could answer, Georgie stomped into the kitchen after Rudyard.

“What the hell are you doing?” she growled, hunching over his shoulder as he smoothed out the papers on the table. 

“I’m going to make the village council take me seriously once and for all,” Rudyard hissed back quietly. “And if getting into bed with the enemy is the only way to do that-”

Georgie snorted.

“You sure you’re ready to get into bed with Eric Chapman?” she asked. “Because I think he’s thinkin’ the same thing.”

“Don’t be crass, Georgie,” Rudyard said. “It’s an expression. It means-”

“I know what it means,” she snapped. “Does Eric?”

“What are you talking about?” Rudyard asked. Upon realizing Rudyard genuinely didn’t understand the soft, puppy-dog eyes Chapman was giving him, Georgie shrugged. Rudyard sighed. “Georgie, I know he’s our chief rival, but he’s been kind enough to supplement Calliope’s internship and to offer me an opportunity to win back the respect of this village. I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Georgie asked. She followed Rudyard to the stove as he started to make scrambled eggs with cheese. She handed Madeline a few slices as Rudyard worked. “Have you considered that it’s Eric Chapman and he might have an ulterior motive?”

“Of course he has an ulterior motive,” Rudyard said. “But the way I see it, I’ve outfoxed him before and I’ll do it again.”

“You have  _ never _ -” Georgie sighed. “What do you think his ulterior motive is this time, sir?”

“Chapman very clearly wants to train Calliope in mortuary science, win her trust, and turn her against us,” he said. “And that’s not likely to happen. Blood is thicker than water and all that.”

“Okay, say that’s what he’s tryin’ to do. How does that explain the fishin’ tournament?”

“I..” Rudyard blinked. “He wants me to trust him.”

“Right, and why would Eric Chapman want your trust?”

“Because he’s responsible for my only child for half the day?” 

“And he wants you to finally like him enough to give him the time of day,” Georgie finished. “He’s been pinin’ after you since Cordelia’s funeral. Maybe earlier than that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Georgie,” Rudyard said. “You’re the one he’s been mooning after.”

“Not since I started goin’ out with Jennifer,” Georgie said. “And, anyway, ever since Calliope came into the picture, you’ve been…”

“What?”

“More put together than I’ve ever seen you,” Georgie said. “What’s to stop him from fancyin’ you?”

“We’re rivals,” Rudyard said. “Who occasionally have interesting conversations over coffee and now breakfast. There’s nothing untoward about it.” 

“Right.” Georgie drew the word out testily. “And it’s completely normal for rivals to share an intern, plan a fishin’ tournament together, and come over for breakfast.” 

“Exactly.”

There was no hint of irony in Rudyard’s voice. Georgie sighed. The sound of a door opening and closing indicated that Antigone had come out of her mortuary to join the land of the living. When she materialized in the kitchen she asked the question Georgie had just beaten to death -

“Why is Eric Chapman in our front room?”

“He’s my guest,” Rudyard said.

“He fancies Rudyard,” Georgie said. 

“Christ.”

“We’re planning the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament together,” Rudyard explained, glowering at Georgie. “It’s perfectly innocent.”

“I hope you’re right,” Antigone said. “I’d like to be able to keep my breakfast down.”

“Even if he did fancy me,” Rudyard said. He held up his hands. “And I’m not giving credence to that particular, ludicrous theory, it doesn’t mean the feeling is mutual. Eric Chapman will have to work much harder than he has to win my fancy and, frankly, I don’t think he will.”

Five minutes later, Calliope and Chapman joined the adults of Funn Funerals around the kitchen table. Everyone sat much too close for comfort. Georgie sat across from Rudyard and watched as he and Chapman bent their heads over paperwork spread across their laps.

“When we did the fishing tournament on the open sea,” Rudyard said, “we had to put strict limits on which fish we would and would not accept. Has anyone documented the species that live in the lake?”

“I know a guy,” Chapman said, “and I can have it done before the end of the week.”

“Excellent.” Rudyard looked up and tilted his head, studying Chapman’s expression. “You know, we did catch and release fishing, back when I planned the event.”

“Isn’t that counterproductive?” Chapman asked. “If we catch the fish, aren’t we going to cook them afterward? There’s almost nothing more satisfying than having caught and cooked your own meal. I learned that when I competed in a survivalist reality show in Alaska-”

“Yes, a long time ago, I'm sure,” Rudyard said. “Why don’t we ask a jury of our peers? Georgie? Antigone?”

“I’m stayin’ out of it,” Georgie said. 

“What is the death of a few fish, when we are all on our way to the grave?” Antigone asked. 

“I like Mr. Chapman’s idea,” Calliope said, even though no one had asked her. Her small voice was prickly. “If I was going fishing, I would want to cook my catch and eat it, enjoy my hard work.”

“Thank you, Calliope.” 

Chapman looked chuffed, smiling over at her and then at Rudyard for approval. Rudyard worried his lip, clearly thinking. Calliope’s excitement clearly swayed him. He took a deep breath. Then, looking at Chapman he said -

“All right, then. But only because Calliope would prefer it.”

“Of course,” Chapman said. He pushed his empty plate away. “If you’ll excuse me, Funns, Georgie… I have to get started on my work day and I don’t want to keep you lot any longer. Rudyard, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Tonight?” Rudyard arched a brow. 

“Aren’t you going to the village council meeting?” Chapman asked. “I know only official council members are mandated to attend, but I’d love to have you since half these ideas are yours.”

“Yes, of course,” Rudyard said. “I’ll be there unless I was specifically banned?” 

He looked at Georgie.

“Mayor Desmond didn’t explicitly ban you,” she said. “You’re as welcome as any member of the public.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Georgie, I know that’s not true,” Rudyard said. “But I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it,” Chapman said. “We’ll show everyone all of these plans and then the real work can begin!”

“Real work?” Rudyard echoed, suddenly distressed.

“Well, yes, organizing a village event is more than just a couple of brilliant ideas on paper,” Chapman said. “You ought to know, you used to be in charge of village events!”

“Yes, well…”

“I’ll see you and Georgie tonight and Calliope in a couple of hours if Antigone can still spare her-”

“Actually, Chapman,” Antigone said. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…”

“Is there a problem?” Chapman asked. “Calliope has been brilliant in the mortuary. You’ve trained her well, Antigone. I know you might need her, since work around here has picked up-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Antigone asked sharply. “We’ve always had work.”

“Yes, well, I just meant that since the rebranding, you lot have really given me a run for my-”

“Don’t patronize me!” Antigone hissed. 

“Blimey, I’m sorry Antigone. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Besides,” Antigone said. “I was the only mortician on this sodding island for seventeen years. I can handle our workload just fine, Chapman.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Chapman said. “Calliope? Does that mean I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Calliope said, clearly surprised by her aunt’s outburst. Something else seemed to make her uncomfortable, although she didn’t say what. “Yeah, I’ll be there after lunch.”

“Wonderful! Enjoy yourselves!”

Once Chapman disappeared out the front door, hell broke loose in Funn Funerals once more.

“What the hell was that?” Rudyard asked. 

“Oh, just shut up, Rudyard!” Antigone spat back. “If you weren’t so busy gazing into Chapman’s shockingly blue eyes-”

“It’s called professional eye contact-”

“Does your boyfriend know that?”

“Chapman is not my boyfriend! He’s my rival.”

“Really? Because it feels like I’m the only one carrying the burden of hating him, Rudyard! If you weren’t so busy planning your fishing trip honeymoon, you would have noticed he impugned our business model and work ethic! A few months ago, you wouldn’t have stood by and-”

“So he bruised your ego,” Rudyard snapped.  “But he’s been perfectly civil to me and Calliope."

"I was going to try to get Calliope back with us full time!" Antigone moaned. "I was going to give Chapman a piece of my mind and win Calliope back and it was _your job_ to discipline your daughter better! We talked about this yesterday!"

"I think I would remember if I decided to change my parenting strategies!" 

"Would you? Would you really?"

"Besides, I think she's getting a great deal out of her internship with Chapman.  Isn’t that right, Calliope? Calliope?”

Calliope, however, had disappeared and taken Georgie with her. Upstairs in Calliope’s bedroom, she sat Georgie down and unburdened her own fears.

“Do you think Mr. Chapman really fancies Dad?” she asked. “Or is that just some stupid grown-up joke? Don’t lie to me.”

Georgie made an uncomfortable noise. She picked up a frayed and misshapen stuffed animal that looked handsewn. Hugging it to her chest, she looked at Calliope, whose eyes were wide with panic and anger. Georgie didn't know exactly why she looked like that, but she wanted to make it better. _Don't lie to me_ , Calliope had said. Georgie decided she'd honor that. Calliope was a smart kid. She'd figure out the truth anyway. 

“I dunno, to be honest. Seems like it, though.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Calliope asked. 

“We?” Georgie cocked her head. “Cal, we don’t have to do anything about it.”

“Do you want Mr. Chapman to date my dad?”

“No. You know I don’t.”

“Then we have to stop him,” Calliope said. “And I think I have an idea.”

Georgie didn’t usually dwell on the similarities between Calliope and Rudyard. However, the gleam in her eye and childish hubris in her voice reminded Georgie so much of the Rudyard she knew and loved and missed as he got closer to Chapman in these last few months. Nodding, Georgie knew that she would do anything for Calliope, especially if it meant getting their Rudyard back. 

“I’m in.” 


	4. In Which Antigone Has a Plan

Georgie descended the stairwell of Funn Funerals to find Rudyard sitting alone. She’d heard shouting through the floorboards, which she had fully anticipated while she was upstairs with Calliope. Less expected, however, was that Rudyard would be calmly and quickly writing down his ideas from breakfast for the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament. Georgie put her hand on the desk.

“Sir?” 

Her voice was tentative, not because she feared Rudyard, but because she didn’t want to disrupt his good mood. After talking with Calliope, she had new concerns that weren’t all to do with Eric Chapman and his apparent crush on Rudyard. Rudyard looked up.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to help Eric Chapman with the fishin’ tournament?” Georgie asked. 

“If you’ve come to chastise me-”

“No, I haven’t. Look. Rudyard. I know you’re excited about convincin’ the council to take you seriously again-”

“Mhmm.”

“- and that you don’t think Eric Chapman fancies you-”

“I should think not!”

“- but did you consider that organizers can’t compete in the tournament?” she asked.

Rudyard’s pencil stopped moving. He looked up at Georgie, brows drawn in consternation.

“Now, look here, Georgie, I appreciate your concern but I have considered all of the facts,” Rudyard said. “And the fact is, my happiest memories of this fishing tournament were those in which I was ineligible to compete.”

“Yeah, okay, but did you ever consider that Cal might want to compete?”

“Nothing’s stopping her.”

“Cal might want to compete with her father,” Georgie clarified. “A fishin’ tournament seems like the sort of thing she’d love and the kind of thing most kids do with their fathers, probably.”

“Oh.” Rudyard frowned. He froze for a moment, then asked, very delicately, “Did you ever do a fishing tournament with your father, Georgie?”

“It was just me and Nana, as long as I can remember,” she said. 

“Right. And you’re a perfectly well-adjusted adult.”

“Thaaaanks.” 

Georgie did not sound thankful. She watched as Rudyard resumed writing - or perhaps drawing. He seemed intent on making a banner for the fishing tournament and it did not look promising. 

“Oy, Rudyard,” Georgie said, flicking a bit of eraser nub at him. It ricocheted off Rudyard’s knuckle and landed at Madeline’s feet. “Calliope isn’t me. She doesn’t have a Nana to go fishin’ with. She might want _you_.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Georgie; I don’t fish,” Rudyard said with a small laugh. “But you do. You’re great at all those outdoor adventure type things.” 

“Rudyard…”’

“And if you don’t want to take her, she can always _ask_ Antigone, though I don’t think Antigone likes fishing any better than I do. Our father never took her either.”

“You sure I can’t change your mind?” Georgie asked, eyeing the mortuary door down the hallway. 

“Almost certain,” Rudyard said. “There’ll be other fishing tournaments, after all. It _is_ semi-annual, which means we _try_ to do it every year…”

“Right.”

Before Rudyard could solicit Georgie’s opinion on a banner design that he had drawn or give her a funerary task to do in preparation for Mrs. Locksley’s service, Georgie dashed down the hall, through the mortuary door and down the steps. 

“Get out of here, Rudyard!” Antigone hissed without turning around. 

“Not Rudyard,” Georgie called down as she made her way through the darkness. She slipped on a pair of shoe covers and walked towards Antigone, illuminated by the lights on the embalming machine. “I wanted to see if you were okay down here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Antigone brandished a tool Georgie couldn’t identify and Georgie jumped back a little, hands up. “Sorry.”

“Cal told me you banned her from the mortuary,” Georgie said. “And then you had that fight with Eric over breakfast. I just wanted to see how you were holdin’ up.”

“It’s awful, Georgie,” Antigone confessed. “Calliope is brilliant, but she has no sense of discipline and of course, Rudyard lets her do whatever she wants, including intern with Chapman, and now we’ve lost our intern and my niece can’t stand me! How is it that she nearly burns down the house and _I’m_ the bad guy?”

“I don’t think you’re the bad guy,” Georgie said. “And I don’t think she wants to intern with Eric Chapman any more than you want her to. Have you considered, maybe, bonding with Calliope over something else?”

“I go to the cinema to get _away_ from my family, Georgie…”

“No, like… the fishin’ tournament is comin’ up, yeah?”

“That’s a non sequitur.”

“Maybe you could be the one to take her fishing?” Georgie suggested. “It’d be a great way to teach her discipline and to bond with her outside of the mortuary.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never been fishing before,” Antigone said. “Father would never take us and the one year Rudyard _tried_ to qualify us without an adult ended in tears.”

“Well, the way I see it, your father isn’t here now. And upstairs, you’ve got a niece who hates Eric Chapman as much as you do but who’s about as likely to apologize for takin’ that internship as Rudyard is for bringin’ the man over for breakfast.”

“The absolute, idiotic nerve of my brother…!”

“Calliope’s pretty angry that Rudyard’s not going to take her fishing,” Georgie continued. “And when I asked him, he wasn’t about to change his plans. But if you take Calliope fishing…”

Antigone gasped.

“I’ll be her favorite again, she’ll learn to respect me on the open seas, and will be begging to come back to the mortuary and follow my rules by sunset!” 

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

“And you’ll… you’ll teach me how to fish?” Antigone asked, maybe a little shyly. 

She tucked a limp strand of black hair behind her ear with a latex-clad hand. Now that Georgie’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see glimpses of Calliope in Antigone - all eager anticipation and determination. The familial resemblance in this house would one day drive her mad. Georgie nodded. 

“Sure, I’m great at teachin’ people how to fish,” she said. “Besides, with Calliope at Chapman’s all afternoon, you can make it a surprise.” 

“That’s brilliant. Thank you, Georgie.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Shortly after, Antigone shooed Georgie out of the mortuary and said she would join her upstairs after Calliope left for Chapman’s. As she walked down the hall, Georgie ran into Calliope. 

“Is Auntigone still mad at me?” she asked.

Georgie shrugged. 

“I wouldn’t go down there,” she said. “What’s this I hear about you almost burnin’ the house down?” 

Calliope looked down at her shoes. She looked very much like she was trying to be invisible, but failing dismally. 

“It was an accident,” she said finally. “I wouldn’t ever have tried to burn down the house on purpose!”

“Did you apologize to your aunt? Or to your dad?”

“Dad isn’t upset about it,” Calliope said. “And Auntigone isn’t speaking with me.”

“Calliope, until you apologize to your aunt, I’m not helping you ruin Eric Chapman,” Georgie said. “That’s final.”

“Does that mean you haven’t booked the village hall for an emergency Piffling Scouts meeting?” Calliope asked, voice trembling. 

“Not yet,” she said. “And, anyway, it’ll have to be after the village council meeting. Hall’s booked for tonight.”

Calliope folded her arms.

“Fine,” she said. “I don’t need your help to ruin Eric Chapman. I can do that myself.”

That afternoon, however, Calliope felt no closer to ruining Eric Chapman than she had this morning when he showed up for breakfast. She washed her hands, donned protective gear, and watched as Mr. Chapman hooked the body up to an embalming machine that was much newer than Auntigone’s. Calliope asked the usual sort of questions - how many liters of fluid it could drain from the human body in an hour, how much a machine like that might cost, whether it was an environmentally sound option, compared to similar models on the market. Mr. Chapman answered these questions but stumbled with his words as he did as if he hadn’t expected such questions from Calliope.

“So who is the deceased?” Calliope asked. 

“This was Mr. Beale,” Mr. Chapman said. “His service is next week Tuesday.”

“But who is he?” Calliope asked. “Or was? Right now, Auntigone has Mrs. Locksley. She was a teller at the Piffling Bank and she held the village record for holding her breath underwater until… well…” 

Calliope looked at Chapman uncomfortably.

“Oh, right,” he said, tingeing faintly pink. “She was such a good sport about losing the title last year, I’d almost forgotten…”

“Do you think that’s when she decided to go with Funn Funerals?” Calliope asked. “Auntigone says she was very proud of that title.”

“Oh… I… I don’t know… I hadn’t thought of that.”

“So what do you know about Mr. Beale?” Calliope asked. 

“Mr. Beale? Oh. He… ah… well, he worked as a barber… Cheerful man, even though his kids all left the island years ago. I still remember his old slogan: _Beale’s Barbershop: A Cut Above the Rest._ Silly slogan, though, since they were the only barbershop on the island.”

“They still _are_ , aren’t they?” Calliope asked.

“Well, that depends,” Chapman said. “His kids have been invited to the funeral, of course, but there’s no telling if they will stay, much less carry on their father’s work. If they choose not to, someone will have to open a new barbershop on the island…”

“Are you saying you’re planning to open a barbershop, Mr. Chapman?” Calliope asked. “I didn’t realize you were a trained hair-dresser.”

“Oh, I went to trade school a long time ago,” Chapman said. “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear that story.”

“Oh.”

Calliope frowned. The way Mr. Chapman danced around answering any questions about himself was maddening. How was she supposed to identify his weaknesses in time for the Piffling Scout meeting? She needed to have a plan. Examining a bottle of commercially sold formaldehyde, she pursed her lips. From the corner of her eyes, she watched Mr. Chapman as he went to the sink to wash his hands. As he did, he whistled. Earlier this morning, she and Mr. Chapman had stood in the lobby of Funn Funerals while Dad and Georgie squabbled, and then Auntigone joined them. Calliope could only think that if she heard Georgie and Dad arguing about whether Mr. Chapman fancied Dad, Mr. Chapman must have heard it, too. How did he not find this internship impossibly awkward after Georgie levied such accusations against him? It wasn’t that her dad was unlovable, it was just… well… Even Mr. Chapman wouldn’t be so bent on his conquest of the island as to intrude on Funn Funerals. Not _now_. Not so soon after Calliope finally got to meet what remained of her family. It wouldn’t have even been so bad if, as Dad and Georgie bickered this morning, Mr. Chapman hadn’t tried to quickly change the subject with Calliope. His voice had been too fast, too anxious. He’d had to have heard the conversation in the kitchen, too, and he never once tried to dispute it. Calliope might have shown him mercy if he waited a year or two, but she had only had her dad and aunts for a few months and now, at the first sign of family discord, Eric Chapman was there, trying, as Georgie and Dad and Auntigone so often said, to be the hero. 

“Mr. Chapman?” Calliope asked. “Why are you being so nice to my dad?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Chapman shut off the tap and dried his hands. Calliope removed her gloves as instructed in the Chapman’s Employee Video yesterday and threw them in the bin before washing her own hands.

“You know… the internship for me, getting him involved in the fishing tournament… Either you’re being really nice to my dad or you’re trying to keep us apart all summer and I just wanted to know which one it is.”

“I’m not trying to keep you and your father apart. Blimey. Is that what he thinks?”

“I know Dad doesn’t think the two of you are friends,” Calliope said, scrubbing underneath her nails the way Auntigone insisted she do. “But you’ve been very keen on what he’s doing for as long as I can remember.”

“What does your dad think we are, Calliope?”

“Rivals.” The word sent a shudder of delight through Calliope as she shut off the water. She looked at Eric Chapman. “Isn’t that what you are?”

Mr. Chapman looked perplexed. Then, he handed Calliope an armful of cleaning supplies. 

“Go upstairs and clean up the lobby,” he said. “I’ll finish up down here and join you in a moment.”

Scowling, Calliope took the lift up to the main floor of Chapman’s. After she cleaned the lobby, she checked the calendar behind Mr. Chapman’s desk, which was just pictures of Mr. Chapman on exotic looking beaches. Today was circled. Village Council Meeting - 6 PM. Thursday. Auntigone would be at the cinema and Dad and Georgie would be out. Calliope had an idea. When sure that Mr. Chapman was in no hurry to join her upstairs, she snuck behind the desk and dialed the first of the Scouts’ numbers.

“Douglas? This is Calliope. Call the rest of the troop and tell them we’re having an emergency Scout meeting at Funn Funerals tonight at 6 PM.”

Meanwhile, at Funn Funerals, while Calliope was gone to her internship at Chapman’s, Georgie had set up a kiddie pool with plastic fish inside. The fish, after being thoroughly wound up, snapped at the air every few seconds. They came in an array of neon colors that the real fish in Lake Chapman did not. Standing at the edge of the kiddie pool, wearing a large, floppy hat, sunglasses, and too much sunscreen, Antigone Funn felt very, very foolish.

“Are we sure this is the only way to win Calliope back from Chapman?” she asked, scratching her arms. “Can’t I just go across the square and give Chapman a piece of my mind?”

“I dunno. Will you go across the square and give Chapman a piece of your mind?” Georgie asked. Silence spread between the two women like a spill. Georgie took that for a no and foisted a fishing pole into Antigone’s hands. “Do you remember how to put the lure on? And the bait?”

Antigone grumbled. Then, fumbling with the end of her fishing line, she baited the hook. 

“I still don’t see why we’re using live bait on plastic targets,” she mumbled. 

“You play the way you practice. I read it in a magazine, so it’s probably true,” Georgie said. “Did you get the worm on the line?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna want to cast the line into the pool. You might need to wind up a little… Throw it back to go forward and…”

“Yes…”

Antigone wound up. She tossed her line backward. It snagged on something. At first, she thought it might be one of the old rosebushes that didn’t bloom. But then she heard, unimpressed and serious -

“Antigone.”

She and Georgie turned around to see that the fishing hook had snagged on the lapel of Rudyard’s jacket as he walked down the back steps. A slight tug pulled him forward. 

“Sorry, Rudyard,” Georgie said. “I’ll untangle you-”

“Antigone, stop pulling!”

“I’m not _pulling_ -!”

Georgie eventually disentangled the line. 

“Okay, so that was good, but next time, check and make sure that no one is in the way,” Georgie said. 

“Right.” Antigone cast her line again, this time, narrowly avoiding getting caught in Georgie’s hair before landing it in the water. “Now what?”

“You wait until one of ‘em bites,” Georgie said. 

“Oh, I see. Is there a lot of waiting involved?” Antigone asked. 

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point of fishing, I think,” Georgie said.

“I see.”

“That’s absurd,” Rudyard said. “If the point of fishing is ‘waiting’, why is it called ‘fishing’?”

“Go away, Rudyard, I’m learning something,” Antigone said, not turning to look at her brother.

“Yes, I can see that,” he said. He came to stand beside her. “Are you done in the mortuary for the day then?”

“A mortician’s work is never done.”

“And that is a...?”

“Yes, I’m done.”

“Oh. Good.” A pause. “So, Georgie is teaching you how to fish?”

“That’s right, yes.”

“Where did she get the kiddie pool? And the… fish?”

“Mayor Desmond doesn’t need them for this year’s tournament,” Georgie said. “Since you and your boy-”

“Don’t say it,” Rudyard said. “But I suppose you’re right. Since it will be on the lake. Am I to understand, then, that you’re taking Calliope fishing, Antigone?”

“That’s right, I am,” she said, still not looking away from the kiddie pool.

“Now, look here, Antigone, I’m not in the habit of making apologies-”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

“- but I wanted to apologize for this morning,” Rudyard continued, glaring at his sister, “especially if I led you to believe I would be changing my parenting style when we spoke yesterday.”

“Christ-!”

Antigone turned to face Rudyard with narrowed eyes and blotchy, enflamed cheeks.

“Rudyard, we agreed that you’d start disciplining Calliope more consistently.”

“I know. If you weren’t already taking her fishing, I’d ground her from the tournament, but seeing as you’ve made plans-”

“My plans are to get Calliope back from the internship you gave her at Eric Chapman’s. Right now, your stupid fishing tournament seems like the best option-”

“Oh, so when I’m planning it, it’s stupid-”

“Guys…” Georgie said. 

“Of course it’s stupid!” Antigone protested. “You’re using it to springboard back into the village council’s good graces, even if it means refusing to bond with your daughter-”

“Calliope and I have bonded plenty-”

"- you're just scared to fail at the fishing tournament-"

"- don't you dare, Antigone-"

“- all because you’re still angry -”

“Guys…”

“- that Mayor Desmond wouldn’t let you compete without adult supervision-”

“I’m not angry about what happened with the HMS Undertow!”

“Then why do you care so badly about being in charge of this _one_ village event?”

“-I just think I should have counted as adult supervision for you. I was twelve and you were eleven. I was older and we would have been fine-!”

“Rudyard! Antigone!”

Rudyard and Antigone turned around to see the line Antigone had cast in the pool was now taut and tugging. A pink, plastic fish whirred in place as it pulled the line. Antigone gasped eagerly.

“My first catch!”

“I told you,” Georgie said. “It’s all a waiting game.”

“Beginner’s luck!” Rudyard protested. “Do it again.”

And, so, after a few rounds of fishing, once Antigone had caught two blue fish, a green fish, and finally the stopper keeping the kiddie pool inflated, she proved that she was a decent enough fisher to take Calliope out onto Lake Chapman. As they sat in the grass, making lures, Antigone looked over at Rudyard. He was very fixated on braiding brightly colored twine together.

“Why do you care so much about this one village event?” she asked. “You haven’t tried to participate for twenty-three years and you haven’t run it in nearly a decade.”

“Oh, you know…” Rudyard said vaguely. “I thought I’d sit this year out, maybe learn to fish, so that next year, I could shove it back onto Lady Templar and Chapman and do right by Calliope.”

“It’s not too late,” Antigone said. “You still could. All four of us could go fishing.”

“I’ve already made the commitment to go to the village council meeting tonight.”

“Yeah, to Chapman,” Georgie said. “Since when do you care about keeping your word to Eric Chapman?”

Rudyard sighed.

“He’s been rather decent since Cordelia’s death,” he told them. “Even if I sent Calliope to him with the hopes that she'd destroy his mortuary in twenty-four hours or less, he took her on. And he’s been kind. You don’t think I could just betray him like that?”

“It’s okay to say you fancy Eric Chapman,” Antigone said. “We’ve all made that mistake.”

“Speak for yourself,” Georgie said. “He fancied me, not the other way around.”

“I’m trying to be supportive, Georgie,” Antigone hissed. “Do you think I like the idea of our gorgeous, hated rival fancying my brother?”

“I don’t think I fancy him,” Rudyard said. “But I don’t hate him as much as I used to. I almost like him, which is somehow _worse_ than if I fancied him.”

“How is that worse?” Antigone asked. “They both sound awful.”

“If I only fancied him, I don’t suppose I would feel good about trusting him with Calliope, even if it’s all a part of my scheme to get her to appreciate how much better off she is interning with you. Instead, I think that he’ll be good to her, even if he isn’t the best mortician for a mile-radius. And if I only fancied him, I wouldn’t be worried that he’d figure out that I’m using him… to discipline my child, to get back in the council’s good graces… I keep imagining his face. And if I only fancied him, I don’t think I’d feel bad about it.”

“Do you feel bad about it?” Antigone asked, examining the lure she’d made in the shape of a coffin. 

“I wouldn’t,” Georgie said. “It’s not the worst thing any of us have done to Eric Chapman before. It probably won’t be the worst thing we do to him in the end.”

Rudyard laughed weakly and the three of them set back to working on their fishing lures. In a few hours’ time, Rudyard and Georgie would have to face Chapman at Village Hall and Antigone would get a much-deserved night off. The sooner this fishing tournament was planned and held and finished, the better things would be for everyone at Funn Funerals. 


	5. In Which Rudyard Thinks Everything is Under Control

Although evening came to Piffling Vale, the sun did not yet set. Instead, an orange twilight settled over the island and sea: the first real summer night. After cleaning up the kiddie pool, Georgie said she had to run home to feed Timmy and clean up for the village council meeting. Antigone, too, left early, although Calliope was the only one to note her aunt’s foray to the cinema. Now, she sat on her dad’s bed while he alternated between his two best suit jackets and fussed over tying a tie as if he didn’t regularly do exactly that for work. 

“So,” Rudyard asked, eyeing his daughter in the mirror. “How is the internship going with Mr. Chapman?”

“Fine,” Calliope said sullenly. 

Rudyard raised a brow. 

“Just ‘fine’?” he asked. “Isn’t it interesting in his mortuary?”

“Not really,” Calliope said. She tugged at a loose thread on the blanket. “It’s higher-tech than Auntigone’s, but once you’ve seen one corpse get embalmed, you’ve seen them all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Rudyard said. “I never understood your aunt’s fascination with embalming. But that doesn’t sound like _you_ … You were always much more interested in science than I was.”

Calliope shrugged. Rudyard deflated a little. As Madeline popped out of his pocket, he showed her his options for his suit jacket and listened to her opinion. All the while he watched Calliope look miffed, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Madeline squeaked at him.

“I can’t just ask her that, Madeline,” Rudyard whispered. 

Madeline squeaked some more, urging Rudyard on. He sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “But if this doesn’t work…”

He cleared his throat.

“So, how is Mr. Chapman treating you?” he asked, sliding into his gray suit jacket and twisting in the mirror to check for stains or holes. “Is he being kind to you?”

“Sure,” Calliope said. “He’s always ‘kind’.”

“Not always,” Rudyard said. “This may surprise you, Calliope, but before you came to live with us, Mr. Chapman wasn’t always ‘kind’ to us.”

Calliope perked up a little. 

“You said he was your rival,” she said.

“Yes, but it’s nothing personal anymore, I don’t think,” Rudyard said. “I mean, he isn’t trying to turn you against Funn Funerals, is he?”

“No,” Calliope admitted. “But he won’t let me do much of anything. Mostly I watch him work and he tells me stories about his life before he came to Piffling, but they always end with him saying it was a long time ago and I wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Rudyard said. “Have you considered causing a little chaos in the mortuary?”

Calliope gasped.

“Dad! Even if I don’t like Mr. Chapman, I have to respect the bodies of the deceased! It’s the last dignity we can preserve for them!”

“You sound like Antigone.” Rudyard smiled a little. “Am I to understand that the chaos you caused in our mortuary was an accident, then?”

“I didn’t mean to catch the cremulator on fire!” Calliope said. “I was just excited about opening the market for pet burials, which you said was a good idea-”

“It is a good idea. It’d just be a better one if you told your aunt before trying to set it up in the mortuary,” Rudyard said. “Maybe we can work together to persuade her to let you conduct animal embalmings.” 

“Does that mean I’m allowed in the mortuary again?”

“It’s not my mortuary. You’ll have to talk to your Auntigone.”

“Oh.”

Madeline squeaked at Rudyard again. He sighed, shoulders slumping a little. 

“Calliope, do you really dislike Mr. Chapman?” he asked. 

“I mean, he _is_ kind to you,” Calliope said. “I just… do you ever think he might be hiding something?”

“All the time,” Rudyard said. “But he’s been so much kinder since you joined the family.”

“What was he like _before_?” 

“Oh, you know.” Rudyard waved a hand. "Always trying to _compete_ with us. Everyone _loved_ him - they still _do_ \- and his Mr. Sunshine Act. Almost put us out of business while laboring under the delusion that we were friends. I never gave him the satisfaction.”

“Do you remember the seagull funerals?” Calliope asked.

“How can I forget? We worked so hard and it was raining and Chapman invited the whole village onto his yacht and we just had a little rowboat…” 

“I remember watching you from the yacht with Mum. She said you used to be better than that.”

The smile disappeared from Rudyard’s lips. He blinked a few times, turning to face Calliope.

“Now, look here-”

“I wish she could see how good things are now. I think you’re better _now_ than ever,” she said. “Is Chapman?”

“Is Chapman what?”

“Better than before?”

“I… I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“It just feels like he’s in our family’s business a lot,” Calliope said. “And Mr. Chapman isn’t family.”

Rudyard hadn’t considered that. Or, rather, he hadn’t considered it this week. It was a thought that had initially crossed his mind daily after Cordelia’s death, maybe even before. Eric Chapman was not family, but he was always there. If Funn Funerals - if _Rudyard_ \- was better now than ever before, Chapman and Chapman’s hadn’t changed a bit. For so long, Rudyard had grown used to being the stagnant one that he hadn’t noticed the role reversal. It delighted him for a moment to think that Chapman had stopped growing and changing with the times. Then, it horrified him - was Chapman’s the institution Funn Funerals ought to have been? And then, finally, a warm feeling spread across his chest as he glanced out his bedroom window at the funeral home across the square. Chapman’s lights were still on and he was probably also dressing for the Village Hall meeting. Chapman was not family, but he’d been there every step of the way. It was hard to hate someone who offered you that kind of support. Rudyard had wanted to. Did Calliope hate Chapman? What could Rudyard say to convince her that her new mentor deserved a wary, watchful eye, but perhaps not wrath or revenge just yet? He tied his tie at last and took Madeline out of his pocket and set her beside Calliope. Stroking his daughter’s hair back, Rudyard kissed her temple clumsily. 

“I’m leaving Madeline with you,” he said. “I know Antigone won’t come out of the mortuary to babysit and Georgie will be with me at Village Hall. Keep an eye on each other.”

He went downstairs and outside. Standing on the pavement, he hesitated before crossing the road and knocking on Chapman’s door. If he had been at home, he would have seen Calliope angrily fly from his window to her room to dress in her scout leader finery. But of course, he didn’t see that, he saw Eric Chapman on the doorstep of Chapman’s, smiling and changed from a suit into a sweater, dressed down as carefully as Rudyard was dressed up.

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, eyeing Chapman, “I thought we could go over to the hall a little early, review our planned speeches for the night…”

Rudyard procured cue cards from his breast pocket. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing both our speeches,” he said, “proposing the changes to the Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament.” 

“Nicely done, Rudyard!” Chapman said. He accepted his stack of cards from Rudyard and examined them. “Half of mine are blank.” 

“Improvise,” Rudyard said. “You could read the telephone book and the village council would give you a standing ovation.”

Chapman pocketed his cue cards. He flipped a switch and Chapman’s went dark. Only the golden porch lights remained as he stepped outside.

“Who’s watching Calliope?” Chapman asked, looking across the square at the still-illuminated Funn Funerals. 

“Madeline has agreed to sit with her,” Rudyard said. “I didn’t want to interrupt Antigone’s plans.”

“You left a mouse in charge of your daughter?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rudyard said. “Madeline isn’t _in charge_ of Calliope. She’s just keeping an eye on her. Calliope’s smart enough to take care of herself. You know, she is the youngest Piffling Scout Leader in the history of the Piffling Scouts…”

“Are you sure she doesn’t need adult supervision?” Chapman asked. “Wasn’t the whole reason you asked me to take her on as an intern because Antigone was worried that she lacked discipline-”

“Chapman, Chapman, Chapman…” Rudyard shook his head. “Calliope _thrives_ when I give her a challenge to rise to. We’ll see how she does on her own tonight and adjust in the future based on her performance. Madeline will get back to me with all the details. Besides, Antigone will be lurking in her mortuary if anything goes _really_ wrong.”

“I mean, that _sounds_ reasonable…”

“It _is_ reasonable. Someday, when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Chapman laughed uncomfortably. Rudyard felt his chest sink a little at the sound. Didn’t Chapman once say he wanted to be a dad? Nothing was _stopping_ him. Well, perhaps Lady Templar was stopping him. Rudyard hadn’t thought much of Piffling’s preeminent socialite lately, but the sudden thought of her and of her and Chapman and remembering that she would be at the village council meeting made him feel worse. He cleared his throat.

“How do you think Calliope’s internship is going?” Rudyard asked. 

Chapman sighed. His shoulders slumped and he walked to the steps of Chapman’s. Rudyard followed him. 

“She’s brilliant, Rudyard. She really is.”

“But?”

“Hmm?”

“She’s brilliant, but…?”

“I think she misses you,” Chapman said. “And Antigone. I’ve been showing her all my newest tools and telling her some of my best stories, but she just keeps asking about us.”

“Us?”

“You and me.”

“There is no ‘you and me’,” Rudyard reminded Chapman. “There is you and there is me.”

“Right, but that’s what I mean. She keeps asking me about you and I think she misses you lot, no matter what I have to offer at Chapman’s.”

“I see… So it’s working…”

“Sorry?”

“No, nothing!” Rudyard said quickly. “I just said I hope it’s working. Her at your place. Is she following your safety protocols?”

“Grudgingly, but to the letter. Reminds me of you in that regard, actually.” Chapman smiled. Rudyard peered over at him. “You know… a stickler for rules, but none too pleased about them anyway.”

“Are you saying I’m a stick in the mud?” Rudyard scoffed. 

“No! I’m just saying… I don’t know what I’m saying. I think it’s endearing-”

“Endearing?”

“You and your whole family are full of, you know, endearing, quirky charm,” Chapman amended. “And you… you seem to want the whole world to operate by a set of rules, but I can never tell who’s making the rules or what they might be. And it’s… you know…”

“Endearing?”

“Right.”

The two men fell silent, walking along the cobbled stone street. Rudyard drew his lips into a thin line. _Endearing_. No one had ever called him that before. Even though the whole village had been abuzz about him being a single father for the first few weeks Calliope lived with him, the allure hadn’t lasted long. Quickly, he was just Rudyard Funn again. Maybe Georgie and Antigone were onto something. Rudyard didn’t like to be wrong if that meant his sister got to be right. 

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Chapman said. “I say the strangest things around you sometimes…”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you? Gosh, Rudyard, I-”

“It has me wondering why it is that we call ourselves ‘rivals’. I mean, I remember soon enough when you make jabs at our business model or Antigone’s professionalism like you did this morning-”

“Jesus, I said I was sorry-!”

“- but then you’re, as Calliope says, ‘incredibly kind’ to me and it’s almost like we’re friends or something. I don’t know what you’re up to, Chapman, but I intend to find out.” 

As the two men reached Village Hall a few minutes before six, one of them half-smiling and the other trying desperately to read what that half-smile might mean, neither of them noticed the Piffling Scouts dart along the sidewalk behind them and rush up the steps of Funn Funerals, on their way to earn a badge their new scout leader had planned for them: the Espionage and Sabotage badge.


	6. In Which Rudyard Knows Everything Is Not Under Control

Calliope ushered the Piffling Scouts into Funn Funerals. As Gorilla Patrol, Baboon Patrol, and Bassoon Patrol made their entrances, Calliope thought for the first time since swearing to revenge herself on Eric Chapman, that she might be in over her head. Some of the other children had brought snacks and pushed aside the glass tray of various types of pickles Calliope had left out. Already a trail of crumbs led from the kitchen to the upstairs. Bassoon Patrol had brought their instruments and crammed into the parlor. They played an off-tempo rendition of what might have been “Ode to Joy”. Martin and Patrice stood at the top of the mortuary stairs, arguing about going down, and Douglas, who should have been serving as Calliope’s enforcer, kept prodding them both in the back, as if ready to shove them down the darkened steps. 

“PIFFLING SCOUTS! LINE UP FOR A ROLL CALL!” Calliope yelled. 

The thunder of footsteps upstairs hailed the frantic running of Baboon Patrol as they made their way to the front room. Gorilla Patrol stopped shoving and snacking and made their way to where the other scouts were gathered. Calliope called roll and, once satisfied that her peers were present, she instructed Martin to pass out the snacks. 

“Watch the door,” she told Douglas. “Don’t let anybody in.”

Like a terrifying, ten-year-old bouncer, he squared up and blocked the door. The other scouts all looked at Calliope with wide eyes. Even Bassoon Patrol was quiet. Whenever their scout leader called a meeting, she had an interesting assignment for them to do. Last month, they’d gathered in the village square and instead of going on a ten-mile romp around it, she had set up an obstacle course that she had made out of wood scraps from Georgie’s coffin building. There were hurdles and traps and a climbing wall. Everyone had loved it and they’d earned their Boot Camp Badge. It was always something new and exciting with Calliope in charge, but until today, she had never let her troop into Funn Funerals. She’d been quite content to let her scouts think that she lived in a haunted house. In fact, before Calliope could tell the scouts why she’d gathered them for an emergency meeting, the questions came.

“Are there really ghosts in your attic?” Patrice asked.

“And a dead body in the basement?” Martin asked. 

“Can we see it?”

“Can we touch it?”

“Of course you can’t,” Calliope said. “It’s Mrs. Locksley and no one can see her until the funeral. Auntigone has been working very hard for her funeral next week.”

Disappointed groans, grumbles, and sighs filled the room. Calliope cleared her throat. 

“Besides,” she said. “We have more important things than dead bodies to worry about.”

“I knew there were ghosts!” Douglas yelped. He turned and started to scrabble at the door. “And now they’re gonna eat us!”

“No, they aren’t,” Calliope said. “Or, at least, they won’t eat you if you do exactly as I say…”

Reverent silence fell across the room. How many other scout troops had leaders who lived in funeral homes and could command the dead to eat you? The Piffling Scouts didn’t respect very many adults, but they respected Calliope. 

“Tomorrow, there will be an announcement in the paper or on the radio that Piffling is hosting its 30th Semi-Annual FIshing Tournament,” Calliope said, “on a real lake.”

Excited murmurs filled the room. 

“My dad is gonna be right pleased,” Douglas said, looking at Martin. “He says it hasn’t been the same since it was on the open sea…”

“Yeah!” 

“My dad will probably be banned,” Patrice said, deflating. “Just because his name is Fireside Phil doesn’t mean he turns everything into an excuse for arson!” 

“Calliope, is your dad taking you?” Martin asked. 

“Er… no,” Calliope said. “My dad is organizing it.”

Skeptical sounds resounded around the room. 

“Do you remember the village fete he did?” Patrice asked. “My dad has his fortune told and the woman in the tent made him cry when she told him everything he loved would burn…”

“It was all right,” said Douglas. “I still think the deadly coconut shie should have been deadlier…”

“Sure, it was all right,” Martin agreed. “Until Mr. Chapman put all the tables in a circle!”

Suddenly, children who had been ambivalent at best about a village fete nearly a year ago were impassioned and angry. 

“Yeah!” Douglas said. “Great Piffling Speed Date, my foot! What were we s’posed to do while all the adults hung about, making eyes at each other?”

Suddenly, as memories of the village fete became clearer, everyone seemed to have a story. One girl’s mother had been stood up by Dr. Edgeware and now their family didn’t go in for regular medical care to avoid awkward conversation. Another boy had gotten mistaken for an adult due to his height and had been bounced around from table to table and found each subsequent “date” more horrifying than the last. Others had simply been bored, watching the adults “enjoy themselves” while they were relegated to watch on the side-lines.

“That is _exactly_ what will happen if we don’t stop the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament!” Calliope crowed. “Because Mr. Chapman is determined to take over my father’s plans for the fishing tournament!”

A gasp.

“Under Lady Templar, we all suffered fishing around a kiddie pool while the grown-ups drank and gossiped amongst themselves,” Calliope continued, tingling with excitement. “Do you really think we’ll fare any better under Mr. Chapman? Even if my father planned an afternoon of outdoorsy fun and family adventure, Chapman has always found a way to undermine what my family does. I won’t stand for it. Will you?”

A confused cheer of “Yeah!” was quickly replaced with a “No!!!” as the Piffling Scouts got riled up. 

“Don’t let Eric Chapman ruin your summers!” Calliope crowed. “Boycott the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament!”

After a quick explanation of the term “boycott” to those scouts who didn’t pay attention in civics, Calliope was faced with a new problem.

“Yeah, but my mum won’t just let me _boycott_ the tournament,” Martin said. 

“Yeah. Dad’ll be pretty upset if I say I don’t want to go fishing with him,” Douglas agreed. “And I don’t like to make him sad.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Patrice said. “My dad’s probably already banned if Chapman’s taking over…”

“Well, then,” Calliope said, “that just means we’ll need to earn our Espionage and Sabotage badges!”

“Is that a thing?”

“It most definitely is,” Calliope lied, knowing she’d have to sketch a mock-up of the badge, take it to the tailor’s, and then pay for badges by selling some of the weird antiques she kept finding in the attic. “And we’re going to earn it. Patrice, does your dad still know the fireworks dealer?”

“My dad _is_ the fireworks dealer,” Patrice said.

“Fireside Phil _rules!_ ”

“Excellent…”

Calliope outlined her plan to her troops, assigning them all roles and allowing them to attend with their parents. In the end, she, Douglas, Patrice, and Martin would be the ones who had the heaviest lifting to do. The four of them agreed to meet up the night before the fishing tournament to set the plan into motion. Once settled, the scouts began to celebrate their victory.

Meanwhile, at Village Hall, another meeting was underway. Rudyard sat at the new council meeting table and could feel nervous eyes fall on him. He kept trying to catch Georgie’s eye, but Georgie focused on taking notes for the meeting. She called roll and when she didn’t call Rudyard’s name, Mayor Desmond said -

“Miss Crusoe, I think it should be reflected in the minutes that Mr. Funt is here… just in case this meeting goes the same way as his last presentation…”

“Are you gonna review the notes?” Georgie asked.

“I don’t always read the meeting notes. I am usually kept very busy…”

“Cheers, m’lad.” Georgie started to write. “Rudyard _Funn_ is present. There. It’s in the notes.”

“Thank you, Miss Crusoe.”

“Now it’ll be on record if he’s brought any more bats in his jacket,” Lady Templar said. 

She laughed, but no one laughed with her, which Rudyard found encouraging until the reverend said -

“Yes, I still get the shivers when I think about how easily the poor little fellow could have gotten tangled up in our hair…” 

“Oh, come _on_!” Rudyard rolled his eyes. “It was one bat!”

“We just want to be sure you haven’t got any more,” Lady Templar said. “I say, Chappers, you’re a brave man, sitting so close to Mr. Funt when he could be carrying rabid animals up his sleeves…”

“I’m sure Mr. _Funn_ doesn’t have any rabid animals up his sleeve,” Chapman said. “And, anyway, I was inoculated against rabies a long time ago, so it shouldn’t matter, even if he did.” 

Rudyard almost thanked him. However, the meeting swiftly began, starting with a discussion of the treasury, followed by a lively discussion about whether or not fireworks ought to be legal in Piffling Vale, which remained undecided, when _finally_ -

“I believe Eric and Rudyard have something to share with us,” Mayor Desmond said. “They’ve been working on a _surprise_ for all of us!”

The eyes of the village council riveted to them. Rudyard stood, though he didn’t know why, since Chapman remained seated, and he took out his cue cards. He cleared his throat.

“Esteemed members of the village council,” he read, “we stand before you today with a proposition. As we turn our beloved village into a beloved town, we must ask ourselves what traditions have we put in place for future generations to enjoy and to truly earn the name of ‘town’. Over thirty years ago, a man named Samuel George Roberts had a vision for Piffling Vale. Mr. Roberts was, as some of you may know, the predecessor of our formerly-right-honorable Mayor Desmond Des-”

“Does this history lesson have a point?” Lady Templar asked. 

“It is going on a bit,” Reverend Wavering agreed.

“Rudyard and I are planning the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament,” Chapman said, standing up and putting a hand on Rudyard’s shoulder. “On Lake Chapman. Next week Friday. Fun for the whole family! A little sun, a lot of fish, and a night of stargazing to follow.”

“Oh, bravo!” Mayor Desmond said, applauding. Reverend Wavering also clapped. “Isn’t it wonderful!”

“I must say I’m surprised,” Lady Templar said, arching a thin brow. Her glass eye looked a little extra glazed as the other sparked with fury. “Chappers, really. We all know Rudyard’s track record with village events… I can’t imagine you’d forget the village fete so soon…”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten the fete,” Chapman said. “But Rudyard has some great ideas-”

“Does he? Does he now?” Lady Templar asked. “Because he hasn’t run the Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament since the year he tried to go forward with deep sea fishing during the second-biggest storm Piffling has seen in a century.” 

“I was twenty-five!” Rudyard protested. “I just wanted to impress-”

“Well, you certainly left an impression, Mr. Funn,” Lady Templar said. “Which is why _I_ have been running the Piffling Fishing Tournament since. Really, Chappers, I’m… hurt you didn’t come to me for a brainstorming session…”

“Oh,” Chapman said. “I mean, you could join us and the three of us could work as a committee…”

“I mean, I haven’t heard anyone complaining about _my_ fishing tournaments,” she continued. “Everyone always had such a lovely time with the kiddie pool and champagne…”

“Vivienne, Rudyard and I would be happy to-”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Rudyard said stiffly. Then, gritting his teeth, under his breath, he hissed, “Chapman, this is _our_ project-”

“I thought you said there wasn’t an ‘us’,” Chapman hissed back. 

“I didn’t- I just- Chapman, now, look here-”

“I’d love to get your input some time, Vivienne,” Chapman said, much too magnanimously for Rudyard’s tastes. He felt like Chapman was doing it on purpose. “Maybe you and I can discuss it over coffee tomorrow morning? Rudyard doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to.”

“It might be better if Mr. Funn sat this one out,” Lady Templar said. “I don’t think he could understand the explosive creative chemistry we share.”

“Who could?” Chapman said, voice flat and monotone. Then, a little more lively, he said, “Next Friday, Lake Chapman. BYOB - bring your own boat.”

Rudyard caught Georgie’s eye. She mouthed “I’m sorry, sir” to him before he stormed out of village hall. If he had looked at Chapman, however, he might have seen something different, an apologetic glance or a whispered, “Don’t worry: I have a plan.” But he didn’t and so Rudyard fumed back towards the house at eight o’clock. The inhuman sounds shrieking from Funn Funerals worried him and he raced towards his home. Coming up the road from the opposite direction, looking like a dark angel of righteous fury, Antigone raced towards the house. 

“I thought you were in your mortuary!” Rudyard snapped.

“It’s Thursday, Rudyard!”

“I don’t see why that should matter!”

“Thursday is _my_ night, my French cinema night!”

“Since when do you go to the cinema?!”

The front door banged open and Piffling Scouts, some laden with bassoons and some with backpacks, scattered out into the square, darting in every direction towards their homes. The living room was a mess as Calliope, Douglas, Patrice, and Martin tried to clean it up. From atop the desk, Madeline squeaked furiously so that Rudyard only caught every other word. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he snapped. 

The four children trying to hoover up crisps and crumbs stopped and looked at Rudyard. He drew himself up to his full height and narrowed his dark eyes at them. 

“If you do not live here, get out of my house before I call your parents or Agatha Doyle on you all!” 

Apologies and shuffling filled the air. Calliope sat in the middle of the front room, which looked as if a parade of ten-year-olds had had a party there. At his back, Rudyard could feel Antigone’s sharp and horrified “I told you so”. 

“Grounded,” he said. “You are _grounded_.” 

“Dad, I-”

“I don’t care,” Rudyard said. “First you almost torch the house, then you throw a party the moment I’m gone. I don’t know what has gotten into you, but the Calliope I know would be better than this.”

Tears filled Calliope’s eyes. Before she could say another word and before Rudyard could put any other limitations on his grounding of her, she fled upstairs, leaving Rudyard and Antigone to clean up the mess. As Rudyard hoovered the front room and righted the furniture, Antigone checked to make sure none of the other rooms - especially the mortuary - had been broken into. When done, the twins met in the kitchen for tea.

“I’m proud of you, Rudyard,” Antigone said. “That must have been… hard.”

“Incredibly.” Rudyard hugged his mug of tea in his hands and sank into his chair. “I have not had the best of nights.”

“Did the council veto your fishing tournament?”

“Oh, no, they loved the tournament,” he said. “As long as Lady Templar and Eric Chapman are the ones running it.”

“Oh, Rudyard…”

“And I really thought… I don’t know. You and Georgie got to me. I thought maybe Chapman at least respected me, even if he didn’t _fancy_ me.”

“We all did.”

“I’m still making Calliope go over to his tomorrow,” Rudyard said. “She hates it over there. Just for the next week or so, so that way when you take her fishing on Friday, it feels even more rewarding.”

“You don’t have to reward her,” Antigone said. “She betrayed your trust.”

“Yes, but she is only ten years old. And she deserves a good day on a lake with her aunt, who was willing to bait live worms in a kiddie pool just to impress her. I’m not taking that chance away from you.”

“Rudyard I- _Thank you_.”

“Yes, of course. And after the tournament, she’ll start working here again full-time.”

“Thank Christ,” Antigone said. “I’ve gone back to talking to myself in the mortuary. I miss hearing a response.” 

Rudyard smiled and they sat together for a few more quiet minutes. As proud of him as Antigone was, Rudyard couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight had gone horribly, horribly wrong. 


	7. In Which Eric Chapman Takes Bold Action

If Rudyard Funn had insisted upon joining Eric Chapman and Lady Vivienne Templar for coffee, it couldn’t have been any more awkward than it was this morning, sitting in a half-crowded Chapman’s. Eric wished Rudyard had come with him or that he had followed Rudyard out of Village Hall last night. Instead, he sat across from Lady Templar and wasn’t sure that there was a nice, gentle way out of this. He’d spent the morning showing her his and Rudyard’s plans for the fishing tournament. Her thin nostrils flared disapprovingly when he spoke. As soon as possible, she began to tell him about how they could set up a caviar bar on his yacht in the lake while the ‘beastly children’ fished. Eric sighed. 

“Vivienne,” he said, stirring his latte, “they’re good ideas.”

Lady Templar sniffed. Reaching across the table, she put her hand on Eric’s wrist. He paused and looked at her quizically. 

“I don’t doubt _your_ genius, Chappers,” she assured him. “It’s just… well… Rudyard Funn does seem like a _questionable_ choice to plan this event with.”

“Rudyard is a good man,” Eric said. “And he has a lot to offer this village.”

“I keep forgetting you weren’t here ten years ago. It just feels like Piffling wouldn’t be Piffling without you,” Lady Templar said. “If you had seen him urging those boats on in the storm, you’d understand: Rudyard only ever gives a hundred and ten percent when he wants to impress someone and he never, ever succeeds.” 

Eric pried Lady Templar’s fingers from his wrist so he could take a sip of coffee. Sighing, he leveled his gaze at her. She didn’t touch her sugar-free latte and sat, leaning against her palm and watching him, as eagerly close as she could get from across the table. Guilt gnawed at Eric’s stomach. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her the truth about Rudyard. It began during plans and preparations for Nana Crusoe’s funeral and Mayor Desmond and Reverend Wavering’s wedding. Rudyard’s laugh sparked something like flint in Eric’s chest, which was made of lonesome kindling. If he thought about it, really thought about it, he supposed it went back before that day, but he remembered sitting in his funeral parlor with Rudyard, listening to him reminisce and he remembered distinctly thinking that he couldn’t understand why the rest of the village didn’t want Rudyard to smile. 

It must have started before then, Eric was sure, but he couldn’t point to a specific argument or antic that made his heart catch flame so much as that _laugh_.

When Cordelia Roach died a few months ago and Eric met Calliope properly, he’d known in an instant whose daughter she was. He hadn’t had to ask or read the will or pry. He spent fifteen minutes with Calliope, waiting for Rudyard to arrive, and he knew that whatever happened, he’d be there each step of the way with him. Even if Rudyard was in love with a dead woman or if he was in love with no one at all. 

He wanted to be friends with Rudyard Funn, because god only knew how badly they both needed a friend.

Eric was sure he could be content to do a few nice things for Rudyard here and there and hold out to hear that laugh again. Eric seldom was rewarded with it, but he would hear Rudyard coaching Calliope on how to conduct a funeral or Calliope showing Rudyard something she planned for the scouts, and from across the square, Eric would hear that laugh. More than once, he looked across the way and would see Rudyard and Calliope sitting on the lawn - him in a suit, her in her scouting uniform. Rudyard’s voice carried and Eric would pause and listen as he told Calliope stories about his childhood on the island or pointed out funny cloud shapes to his daughter to make her smile while she struggled with her literature homework. 

Had he ever seen Rudyard so happy?

But the happier Rudyard was, the less the rivalry seemed to matter to him. Instead of throwing all of his anger and frustration into competing with Eric, Rudyard went about his day with calm efficiency. He greeted Eric civilly. They talked, sometimes for minutes, occasionally for hours and Eric remembered that there had been a time when this was all he’d wanted from Rudyard. 

He wanted more.

Over the past few months, Eric watched Rudyard rebrand himself and his funeral home and start to be a legitimate threat to Chapman’s. If they had still been rivals, Eric would have doubled-down on his own schemes to destroy Rudyard. But he didn’t want to destroy him anymore. He wanted to see Rudyard succeed. And he was rewarded by seeing that smile everyone else was skeptical of, lively trade conversation, and a Rudyard who dressed well and behaved with the solemnity he’d promised Funn Funerals treated the funeral business with in the first place. It was a glimpse into an alternate universe. 

If this had been the Rudyard he met on day one, would they have ever been rivals? Eric would have never stood a chance. Chapman’s might have; not Eric.

“Who do you think he’s trying to impress?” Eric asked, tilting his head. 

“The village council, of course!” Lady Templar scoffed. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed, you can’t have hoped he was trying to impress _you_.”

“I wouldn’t ever _dream_ that’s what he was doing.”

“He isn’t like the rest of us,” Lady Templar said. “He doesn’t care about your approval the way the rest of the village does.”

“No, he certainly doesn’t…” Eric said. “I’ll admit it’s… refreshing, sometimes.”

“Rudyard Funn is ‘refreshing’?” 

“I always thought I wanted people to admire me,” Eric said. “When I came to Piffling Vale, I thought… Well. It was flattering for everyone to admire me and my work, but-”

“What’s not to admire?” Lady Templar slid her foot up Eric’s leg under the table. “You’re the best man for a mile around.”

“That is a matter of opinion.”

“Everyone says it.”

“Yes, they do, don’t they?” Eric sounded glum. “Vivienne? Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you like me?”

Lady Templar lowered her foot to the floor. 

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Do you like me?” 

“Why would you ask a silly question like that?”

“Oh, you know…” Eric said. “It’s just… we spend a lot of time together-”

“I’d say we do more than _spend time together…”_

“Exactly and I guess I just wondered if you _liked_ me.”

The silence that stretched between them threatened to snap and ricochet around the coffee shop. Lady Templar took a sip from her drink for the first time. She pulled a horrible face at the bitter taste. 

“Everyone likes you,” she said. “You’re _Eric Chapman_. You’ve done everything and been everywhere. You’re so… complex.”

“Sure.” 

“ _Mysterious_ ,” Lady Templar continued. “ _Cultured_.”

“Right.” Chapman paused. “Vivienne, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”

“The fishing tournament?” Lady Templar asked. “Is this your way of asking me to take over? Oh, Chappers, you really are-”

“No. Vivienne, I can’t… We can’t go on doing… whatever it is we’re doing.”

“We’re planning the fishing tournament-”

“That’s not what I mean. Vivienne… I’m sorry.”

Lady Templar looked at Eric, mouth rounded in a silent gasp. Finally, it seemed she understood.

“How dare you-!”

“Go home to your husband, Vivienne,” Eric said. “Give Simon my regards.”

“I will _not_ be giving my husband your regards!” Lady Templar hissed. “We should talk about this, somewhere private-”

“Dunno what there is to talk about,” said Eric. “I just figure if I’m going to spend all my time with someone who _doesn’t like me_ , it ought to be for the right reasons.”

“I never said I _disliked_ you, Mr. Chapman,” Lady Templar said. “But I just might if that’s the kind of petty nonsense you’re going to pull.” 

Eric gathered up his and Rudyard’s plans from the table. 

“I need to get across the square,” Eric said. “I have to talk to Rudyard about the fishing tournament that _he and I_ are planning.”

“Oh, I see. I see. Really, it shouldn’t _surprise_ me, but I do wish you’d stop going on about Rudyard Funn. Bit annoying, actually, listening to you _moon_ over a man who likes you even less than anyone else in the village. A little pathetic, how infatuated you are-”

“Vivienne?”

“Mr. Chapman?”

“I’ll see you around.”

“Oh, you most certainly _will_ ,” Lady Templar said darkly. “Make no mistake about that.”

“Lovely. I’m glad we can be civilized adults about this,” Eric said. He rose from his side of the table. “Enjoy yourself!”

By the time Eric Chapman arrived at Funn Funerals at eleven o’clock, word around the village was that he had broken up with Lady Templar. When they had only been fighting, Piffling Vale regarded Eric as a scoundrel. However, when he was a single man, the visitors to Chapman’s became aggressively flirtatious. It was one thing to be hit on by a widow who was finally freed of a husband she loathed; it was another when the village florist, greengrocer, and librarian all popped over with casseroles and offers of comfort. Eric couldn’t take any of them up on the offers, but now armed with several casseroles and two fruit pies, he made his way across the square to Funn Funerals. He knocked on the door with his foot. Georgie answered. 

“What do you want, Eric?” she asked, blocking the entrance. 

“Oh, hello, Georgie. Is-”

“Don’t ‘hello Georgie’ me,” she snapped. It was a relief that some women in the village would always hate him in earnest. “You’ve got some nerve, turnin’ up here after what you did to Rudyard last night.”

“Actually that’s why I’m here,” Eric said. “I want to apologize to Rudyard.”

“Why the hell would you want to do that?” Georgie asked. “Don’t you have some bored housewives pinin’ after you to keep you busy?”

“That isn’t funny,” Eric said. “I just wanted to bring the Funns lunch and tell Rudyard-”

“They don’t need your handouts, Eric, especially since we all know you’ll take ‘em away as soon as Lady Templar-”

“I broke up with Vivienne this morning!” Chapman hissed. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Nah. Don’t make it a habit to keep up with your personal life.”

Georgie stepped aside and Eric squeezed through the door she would not hold for him. She walked towards the kitchen and Eric followed. Georgie didn’t look back at him. Instead, she gestured at the barren countertops. 

“Set ‘em down anywhere.”

“Crikey, what happened in here?”

The Funns’ kitchen was usually very barebones. However, today, it looked as if all canisters and containers had been removed and the counters scrubbed spotless. Georgie shrugged. 

“While you were backstabbin’ Rudyard at the council meeting-”

“I wasn’t-”

“Calliope decided to have a little house party. The way Rudyard tells it, it was a madhouse over here. He’s been on a cleaning bender since last night. He also confiscated anything Calliope might get into ‘mischief’ over.”

“Blimey.”

“Yep.”

“Where _is_ Rudyard?”

“He took Calliope with him to Petunia Bloom’s,” Georgie said. “Usually, he can level Calliope’s cuteness into a decent price for flowers and he’s also not lettin’ her out of his sight until she’s thirty, I think.” 

“Christ.” Eric set down the casserole dishes and pies. “It sounds like he had a rough night last night.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Eric.”

“Don’t even start with me, Georgie,” Eric said. “Rudyard isn’t the only one who’s had a rough day.”

“Yeah.” Georgie eyed the food and Eric, who looked particularly harried. He might have been crying at some point earlier today, for all she knew. It was disconcerting as it was delightful to see him in such disarray. Still, Georgie folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sure you’ve had it _so rough_ with all of the women on Piffling just throwin’ themselves at you-”

“And some of the men, yes!” Eric said. He sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Look, Georgie, I only came over because I wanted to apologize to Rudyard and to let him know that, if he still wants to, I want him to be my planning partner for the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament."

“Because Lady Templar broke up with you?”

“No. Because Rudyard has amazing ideas for the tournament and he deserves to see it come to fruition and to get the recognition for his work.” Eric paused. “And I broke up with Vivienne.”

Georgie’s face spasmed, morphing into a look of understanding. She hadn’t liked all this talk about Eric fancying Rudyard if only because she hated Eric, but seeing him disheveled and deflated in the Funns’ kitchen, with offerings of food and apologies made her think for the first time: _Rudyard could do worse_. 

“Cheers,” Georgie said, pushing off the counter and walking to the table. She sat down across from Eric. He looked at her, surprise brimming in his blue eyes. “So your first thought when all the women and some of the men in Piffling threw themselves at you was to come here?”

“Oh, for the love of- Yes. It was. I wanted to come by earlier today, but I couldn’t exactly get across the square without acknowledging my visitors-”

“Fanclub, more like.”

“Sure. I’ve wanted to talk to Rudyard since last night, but he left the meeting and, well, you were there. You know that it was far from over when he left.”

“You coulda chased him down,” Georgie said. “Made a public declaration in the square. Thought cliche displays of romance were your forte.”

“They are,” Eric said. “But they aren’t Rudyard’s.”

“So, you don’t deny that you fancy him.”

“Why would I deny it?”

“Because I’m great at hidin’ bodies,” Georgie said. “And if you hurt him, I’m gonna be the least of your problems.”

She smiled at Eric, got up to fetch plates, and cut them each a slice of pie. She slid one across to Eric. This was as close as she’d ever come to giving Eric Chapman her blessing. It wasn’t really her blessing he needed anymore, was it? 

“Look, m’lad,” she said, handing him a plate and a fork. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. Rudyard doesn’t hate you, but you’re gonna have to work a hell of a lot harder to win him over. And Cal. She might not be ready for anybody to date her dad just yet. I won’t say any more because I promised I wouldn’t, but she’s the one you’re gonna have to win over.”

“Sure thing.”

“And if you mess things up with Calliope, there’s no way in hell Rudyard will ever want to have anything to do with you.”

“Thanks, Georgie.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “Seriously, don’t.”

The front door chimed open as the rain started again. Rudyard tromped into the kitchen, wet and muddy, squeezing his damp hair with very little effect. 

“Georgie, tell Antigone I’ve sent Calliope over to Chapman’s,” he said. “I didn’t want her wandering around in the rain unsupervised- Hello, Chapman.”

“Rudyard.” Chapman bounced up to stand, a little too eagerly, Rudyard thought. “I brought over some lunch. I didn’t know if you’d prefer chicken or beef or a vegan option-”

“Now, look here, Chapman, after what you pulled last night-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have stood up for you against Vivienne. You’ve worked too hard on this fishing tournament for her to swoop in and take it all away.”

“I should say so!” 

“Which is why I’ve brought you lunch and a proposal.”

Georgie tensed visibly. Rudyard blinked. Madeline peered out of Rudyard’s pocket. 

“Well, let’s hear it,” Rudyard said. “Go on.”

“Rudyard, will you be my partner in planning the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament?”

“Does he seem contrite enough to you, Georgie?” Rudyard asked.

“Not at all.”

“Oh, for the love of-!”

“Just answer me this,” Rudyard said. “Is Lady Templar going to be involved?”

“No,” Chapman said. “It’ll be just the two of us. I asked Vivienne to leave the project this morning.”

“I see,” Rudyard said. “In that case, I accept.”

“Really? Rudyard, I- Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Rudyard said back. 

For the first time, Eric was certain that the smile on Rudyard’s face was meant for him. He almost said more but then Georgie cleared her throat.

“Hang on, Rudyard…” she said. 

Eric rolled his eyes and began to protest. 

“Did you say Calliope’s was at Chapman’s because you didn’t want her unsupervised?”

“Chapman!” Rudyard turned on Eric, eyes narrowed. “You were supposed to be at your place of employment so my daughter-”

“On it!” Eric said, darting out of the kitchen and into the street as the sun began to shine again. 


	8. In Which Calliope's Plans Get Set in Motion

A little while ago, Calliope stood, dutifully and grudgingly at her father’s side in the Piffling Flower Market as he haggled with Petunia Bloom. 

“Ten pounds?” Rudyard asked. “That’s robbery!”

“Take it or leave it, Mr. Funn,” Petunia said. “I don’t have time to haggle with you today. I’ve got a banana bread in the oven for Mr. Chapman.”

“Of course you do,” Rudyard said. “But ten pounds for the bunch is really too much.”

“Listen here,” Petunia said. “I’m only givin’ you a deal because of the girl and we both know it. These flowers would go for twenty quid to any other buyer.”

“I can see through you, you know,” Rudyard said. “Five pounds.”

“How am I s’posed to make a living if you keep bringin’ my prices down?” Petunia asked. “I’ll up it to eleven pounds.”

“Four.”

“Seven and only because Cordelia wouldn’t want her girl to starve,” Petunia said.

Calliope thought about telling Miss Bloom that she was not starving at Funn Funerals, but her dad liked to play up the pitiful aspect of their family’s affairs when doing business. The village’s sympathy brought in more business. Even at ten years old, Calliope knew that much. She wanted to sabotage her father’s attempts at buying flowers, but reminded herself to keep her eyes on the prize: she needed to sabotage Eric Chapman and the fishing tournament. If she betrayed her father now - even if he deserved it for grounding her - she wouldn’t be able to save the rest of her summer. At this rate, she wouldn’t even be allowed to watch her plans go off at Lake Chapman. Dad would be orchestrating the fishing tournament, Auntigone would be in her mortuary, and Georgie would get stuck “babysitting” Calliope and making sure she had no fun. It made Calliope very glad that she’d only asked Georgie to book the village hall, which she no longer needed, and to get the plans out of the village council meeting. Georgie had already failed her once. She’d probably fail her again. The adults just kept doing that, didn’t they? 

Once Rudyard’s haggling was complete and he had an armful of flowers for Mrs. Locksley’s funeral, it started to rain. Rudyard, nonplussed, continued his walk to Funn Funerals. 

“It’s almost noon,” he told Calliope. “Go ahead and start your work at Chapman’s. I’ll see you tonight.”

Calliope skulked off to Chapman’s. Upon arrival, she found it oddly silent. She called for Mr. Chapman, but when he did not answer, she gave up her search. She sat down in his funeral parlor and glared at the horrible calendar of his misadventures. A hot, squirmy feeling rose in her stomach until she tasted bile. She hated him. She hated Eric Chapman. She hated that he was always smiling, even when there was no reason to smile. She hated that, when her mother died, he’d hovered around her in the Chapman Community Hospital and offered a thousand things to her that she hadn’t wanted or needed. She hated most of all that he wanted to date her father so soon after she had lost her mother. Rudyard may have made peace with Cordelia’s death. He may have made peace with _losing_ her a long time ago, because, really, had he ever had her? Not since before Calliope was born. She wasn’t some dumb kid who thought that her parents were the perfect fairytale to aspire to. She just wished that maybe they had had the chance to be. Instead, Dad was throwing himself into work and trying to cram ten missed years into a couple of months and Mum was… Calliope caught the sob in her throat and swallowed it. She didn’t want Dad to find happiness with Mr. Chapman. She wanted Dad to be happy with her. She wanted to be enough. She wanted Mr. Chapman to remember that he was not family and that nobody could just insert themselves into a family the way he was trying to. He wasn’t her father. He wasn’t even her father’s boyfriend. He was her father’s rival. Someone needed to remind him. Then things could be normal again. 

Her vision swam for a few seconds with the searing heat of tears before refocusing sharply on the papers on Mr. Chapman’s desk. She recognized the yellowed folders and her father’s meticulous-but-messy handwriting. Hopping up, Calliope rushed to the desk to discover that the plans she had wanted Georgie to steal were here and had been here all along. She rifled through them, scouring the pages for a map of Lake Chapman. In the end, all she needed was a schedule and a map. If she could just find those things-!

_Here they are!_

The sound of footsteps made her tense. Quickly, Calliope folded the papers she needed and stuffed them into her pockets. She finished just in time as Eric Chapman raced through the door.

“Oh, thank god, Calliope,” he said, clutching his chest. “Your father was worried about you-”

“Is he here?” 

“No. I took the liberty of checking here first. We should telephone him, let him know you’re safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” Calliope peered up at Mr. Chapman. 

Mr. Chapman pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. He walked over to the telephone. 

“Of course you’re _safe_ ,” he said. “I just meant that- well. I don’t know what I meant. Of course, you were safe. You’re safe with me.” 

“You weren’t with me.” Calliope jutted her chin out a little. “Do you mean ‘unsupervised’?”

“I… well, yes, I suppose-”

“Because ‘unsupervised’ doesn’t mean ‘unsafe’,” she continued. “It just means I don’t have an adult telling me what to do every thirty seconds.”

“Sometimes a child needs an adult to-”

“I have adults to tell me what to do. I have a father, Mr. Chapman.”

“Calliope, I know you have a father.”

Calliope folded her arms. She had a few sassy remarks to make about that, the kind that would make Auntigone and Georgie proud and that would horrify her father and that her mother would have made her apologize for. Biting her tongue, Calliope just continued to stare at Mr. Chapman. 

“I should call him,” Mr. Chapman said. “Let him know you’re all right.”

Again, silence. 

Mr. Chapman moved to the phone. Slowly, he began to dial.

“Do you fancy my father?” Calliope asked. “Everyone says it.”

Mr. Chapman stopped dialing. 

“Calliope, I’m not going to have this conversation with you,” he said quietly. 

“Because I’m a child?”

“Because it’s private.” Mr. Chapman hung up the phone. “Let’s get started in the mortuary.”

Work in Chapman’s mortuary was unremarkable. As per usual, Mr. Chapman did not let Calliope touch his tools or machinery. She perched on a stool, watching as he neatly sewed a corpse’s mouth shut. Mr. Chapman did not tell her the name of the deceased or anything about the man on the embalming table. Calliope would have cared more if she wasn’t so busy fuming. The tense silence stretched over them like an ill-fitting shroud. There would be no way, Calliope was sure, to salvage the conversation between them. All she could do was wonder if Mr. Chapman was the first adult all week to respect her or if he was still the enemy for disrespecting her fledgling family by trying to force his way into it. 

“I don’t think I’ve had someone hate me so much since my time in Sochi,” Mr. Chapman said. It sounded like a joke, but Calliope wasn’t sure if she was meant to ask about it or reassure him that she didn’t hate him. She didn’t want to do either, so she kept her mouth shut. Mr. Chapman laughed uneasily. “But that was a long time ago.”

That was another thing she hated about Mr. Chapman. He never finished a story. He always started with an amazing hook but followed it up with an excuse never to tell. Dad was an amazing storyteller. A little wordy, but he knew how to hook you and pull you through to the very end. Mr. Chapman wasn’t at all like Dad, just as he wasn’t at all like Auntigone as he would begin to speak or whistle jauntily while embalming the dead. If this man liked her father, if he _fancied_ her father, she would have to put up with the half-stories and misplaced cheerfulness every day. Mum had been cheerful, singing to her plants in the morning when she watered them or telling fond stories of her travels to students interested in the obscure instruments and artifacts around the house. Calliope didn’t know if she could stomach Eric Chapman being cheerful and telling exotic stories. It felt like a betrayal. She glared at his hands as he snipped the wire from closing the jaw. 

“Mr. Chapman,” she said softly. “I know you don’t want to talk about my dad, but I do have a question for you.”

“Fire away.”

“Why did you come to Piffling?” she asked. “We already have a perfectly good funeral home and it sounds like you’ve been everywhere else.”

“Oh, you know,” Mr. Chapman said. “I wanted a fresh start.”

“Did you run out of amazing places to go?”

“I wanted to put down roots. You’ll understand someday.”

“When I’m older, you mean.”

“Calliope…”

“Look, Mr. Chapman. I’m not some dumb kid. I know that when a grown-up starts talking about ‘putting down roots’ they mean having a family.”

“Some grown-ups, sure.”

“My dad already has a family.” Calliope stood up. She walked towards the lift. “Get your own.”

“Calliope, wait!”

She stopped in front of the lift and turned around. Mr. Chapman had abandoned his work and come around to the other side of the embalming table. He took no further steps towards her. Instead, he held up his hands like he was taming a wild horse or negotiating a hostage situation with a man holding a bomb. 

“I will do whatever it takes to win your trust,” he said. “I will wait until I have it before I have the private conversation I need to have with your father. I promise you.”

“Tell me something, then,” Calliope said, raising her hand to hit the “Up” button. “What really happened to you ‘a long time ago’?”

“I can’t tell you that, Calliope,” Mr. Chapman said. “I’m sorry.”

Calliope pursed her lips and hit the button. The elevator doors wooshed open.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Chapman.”

That night, alone in her room, Calliope shone a torch on the maps and plans she’d stolen from Chapman’s. The itinerary in her father’s handwriting made her chest ache.

10 AM - Announcement, Speech by Mayor Desmond  
10:15 AM - Launching of the boats   
10:30 AM - Tournament begins   
5 PM - Tournament Ends   
5:30 PM - Winner Declared, Award Ceremony   
6 PM - Cook-out   
8 PM - Stargazing

In the margins, she saw a note-to-self: “6 PM, Join Antigone and Calliope.” 

Crossed out she could make out the words “Ask Chapman to join us?”

Had Mr. Chapman read this?

Calliope clicked the torch on and off for a few agitated moments and then she began to decide just where the explosives would go. 


	9. In Which Antigone Has Her Say

The next morning, Rudyard awaited his copy of Piffling Matters with a knot in his throat. Today would certainly be the day the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament would be announced. Georgie assured him as he paced that the media would cover it.

“I’ve got a man on the inside,” she said. “Your fishin’ tournament is today’s top story.”

“Your girlfriend running a radio show from her parents’ kitchen is hardly the media circus the fishing tournament deserves, Georgie.” 

“Do you want me to cancel your interview with her this afternoon?”

“What? Absolutely not!”

A thunk outside the door signaled the arrival of the paper. Rudyard tore the door open and picked up the paper. He unfolded it crisply as he walked into the house and then froze in front of the kitchen table. He didn’t even make it into his seat before horror gripped his stomach. The knot in his throat tightened. The paper was emblazoned with the headline “Who Is Eric Chapman?” A glossy photo of Chapman in his hot air balloon beamed up from the pages. 

“I don’t believe this!” he roared. “Georgie, have you seen today’s paper?”

“No. You took it inside and you haven’t let me read it.”

“Feast your eyes on this!” Rudyard thrust the paper into her hands. 

“Chapman?!” she asked. Then, reading aloud, she said, “ _Today, Lady Vivienne Templar, Piffling’s leading socialite, tells all about the mysterious Eric Chapman after their scandalous fight yesterday in Mr. Chapman’s coffee establishment and funeral parlor. Said Templar, “No one really knows who Eric Chapman is, what he does, or why he’s come to Piffling Vale in the first place”.”_

Georgie looked up.

“Typical,” she said. “The moment you actually do some good for this village - no offense, sir - he just swoops in-”

“I’ve been saying for _years_ that Eric Chapman is nothing but a scoundrel!” Rudyard lamented. “I’ve been asking for years why he came to this island! And no one took me seriously. Now the one time _Lady Templar_ questions it, it’s front-page news!”

“Are we already screaming about Chapman?” Antigone asked as she came into the kitchen from the mortuary. 

“Lady Templar did a tell-all interview about Eric and it bumped Rudyard’s fishing thing off the front page.”

“Give me that.” Antigone seized the paper and caught up to where Georgie left off before reading aloud, _“Mr. Chapman declined a tell-all interview with Piffling Matters, but gave the following comment, “Sid, you know me. I’m the same person I’ve been since coming to this island. I’m Eric Chapman. I run Chapman’s. I’m on the village council. Speaking of which, would you like to do a story on the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament? We’re doing it next week Friday on Lake Chapman.”_

“Oh, see,” Georgie said. “Your fishing tournament’s still on the front page.”

“Damn, damn, damn-!”

“Rudyard, don’t kick the table,” Antigone snapped. “ _Investigative research has shown that Lake Chapman was discovered by Mr. Chapman on his first day in our community. It is named after him. “It would certainly be suspicious,” Constable Agatha Doyle said, “if it wasn’t Eric Chapman. Instead, what we have on our hands is a good, old fashioned mystery.” “I wouldn’t call him a mystery,” Lady Templar said in response to Constable Doyle’s summation. “I’d call him a scoundrel, but that seems too kind-”_

“I’ll say he’s a scoundrel!” Rudyard growled. “And a lot more besides! This was my chance to do something important for this village-”

“- because planning funerals for the last seventeen years hardly matters,” Antigone said tartly.

“- and I thought Chapman was on _our_ side. I actually began to _like_ the man and I don’t just _like_ people-”

“He’s got some nerve,” said Antigone. 

“I trusted him with my tournament, my daughter, my heart-”

“Your… heart?”

Georgie and Antigone both looked at Rudyard quizzically. He’d only ever said he might someday fancy Chapman, now, in the face of betrayal, the bitter truth was too unsavory to keep hidden under his tongue any longer. He looked helplessly at the two women. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “Calliope’s internship ends at the end of the week and then, after the fishing tournament, I’ll never have to see his face again.”

“Yeah, you will,” Georgie said. “He lives across the street.”

“Yes, well, I won’t have to like it or pretend I do.” Rudyard sank into his kitchen chair. “You think you know a man… You nurse an intense rivalry well past the expiration point in order to have some common ground, things to look back on and laugh at one day… and then just when you need him to spotlight your hard work, he goes and steals the limelight, like he always has, like nothing has _changed_ between you when you were certain he was turning over a new leaf-”

“Rudyard.” Antigone’s voice was very soft and quiet. “How important is this… _rivalry_ to you?”

“Not… terribly,” he said. “I mean, after Calliope and the business… the two of you and Madeline… I’d say… right after that.”

“Someone should tell Eric to shove it,” Georgie said, gripping the back of Rudyard’s chair.

“Yes, I’d like to see someone give Chapman hell for the ways he’s tearing this family apart.” Rudyard looked ready to froth at the mouth of vomit. He looked up to see Antigone leaving the room. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to give Eric Chapman a piece of my mind,” Antigone called over her shoulder. “Georgie, get Rudyard ready for his radio interview.”

“I’m great at gettin’ people ready for radio interviews.”

“Yes, it may be our only chance to save the fishing tournament,” Rudyard agreed. “If I don’t murder Chapman in the Delacroixs’ kitchen.”

As Georgie steered Rudyard upstairs and Antigone stormed across the square, Calliope crept out of the house and in the direction of Lake Chapman.

Antigone stormed into Chapman’s. The sunny atmosphere left no room for shadows or darkness. Somewhere, soft muzak played. This early in the day, no clients bustled about the village’s unofficial hub. Fuming, Antigone stormed into the funeral parlor.

“Chapman!”

Eric Chapman stood behind his desk, rummaging through a folder. He froze. Slowly, he looked up at Antigone. He offered her a warm and dazzling smile.

“Antigone,” he said. “What do I owe the pleasure of-”

“Don’t sweet talk me, it will only make things worse!” Antigone spat. “Have you seen this morning’s paper?”

“Not yet.” Chapman set down the folder in his hand. “Did Sid finish the piece on the fishing tournament?”

“No!”

“Oh… That’s a shame. At least Rudyard and I have that interview with-”

“Sod the interview, Chapman!” Antigone thrust the newspaper onto Chapman’s desk. “Read the headline!”

“ _Who is Eric Chapman?_ ” Chapman’s face fell. The sunny smile that usually lit his face disappeared as he frantically scanned the page, reading snippets aloud before falling silent for a few, stunned seconds. Then, quietly, “Crikey.”

“Crikey?! That’s all you have to say?! ‘ _Crikey?!’_ ”

“What would you _like_ me to say?” Chapman asked. “I told Sid the truth. I’m Eric Chapman. I run Chapman’s. I’m the same-”

“Save it for the radio interview,” Antigone snapped. “Look, Chapman, I know you probably _didn’t_ set this newspaper story up to conflict with the tournament-”

“I didn’t set this newspaper story up _at all_ ,” Chapman said with a groan. “I would never have.”

“And I believe you,” Antigone said. The sharpness of her voice said that even if she believed him, she wasn’t happy with him. “It’s very clear Lady Templar is behind this. Anyone with reading comprehension skills can see she did this because she’s angry you broke up with her.”

“So why are you yelling at me?”

“Because _Rudyard_ doesn’t have reading comprehension skills!”

“I’m sure that’s not true. He’s a brilliant archivist-”

“Chapman, you’ve known my brother long enough to know he doesn’t give the benefit of doubt to anyone,” Antigone said, “even people he likes.”

“... so imagine how he feels about someone he hates,” Chapman murmured. “Christ. Just when we were finally-”

“Yes?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Things have felt different, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Antigone said venomously. “But I have come here to reclaim my intern and to tell you that until you make up your mind about how you feel about my brother, I won’t stand for you yanking him around like this.”

“Antigone, you know me better than that. I would never.”

“Do I know you better than that? Does anyone?” She sighed. “What Lady Templar did was underhanded and selfish and might derail the tournament, but she does have a point. None of us know anything about you or your mysterious past or… anything about you, really. You’ve just swooped into the village like the hero of a romance novel and if you abscond with Rudyard’s heart, I _will_ find you and you _will_ regret it. Have you heard of the Chinese art of ling chi?”

“Torturing someone to death with a thousand tiny cuts?”

“I’ll make that look kind.”

“Jesus. I thought Georgie was the one to worry about."

“I want Calliope back as my intern by next week. And if you have any intentions with my brother, you better make them known.”

“I promised Calliope I wouldn’t.”

Antigone blinked. She tilted her head.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Not until I’ve earned her trust,” Chapman said. “Look, I may not have a family of my own, but I recognize how important Calliope is to Rudyard and I need to respect that and that I’ll always be second to that.”

“You’re sixth on the list.”

“Right.”

“That’s top ten, that’s not bad, especially by Rudyard's standards.” Antigone sighed. “Chapman, I don’t disapprove of you dating my brother - although why anyone would date Rudyard is beyond my comprehension - but you’re going to have to be honest with him, even if you aren’t with the rest of the village. If he asks you for the truth, you will give it to him, won’t you?”

Chapman hesitated. 

“When the time is right.”

“Jesus wept!”

“Give me the rest of the week to win Calliope over,” Chapman said. “You can have her back in your mortuary after the tournament. I didn’t mean to overstep-”

“Yes, you did.”

“You’re right. I did. I just… I want your family to like me before I move forward with Rudyard. You lot are the only ones in the village who don’t like me.”

“Maybe not after this newspaper article,” Antigone said. "Lady Templar is the tastemaker of Piffling Vale."

"Yeah, Viv is pretty influential around here." Chapman sighed. "She could ruin me."

"Well, you could always have a new adventure, leave the island, and never return... You're Eric Chapman."

"Trying to run the competition out of town at his weakest moment? That's low, Antigone."

"It was worth a try. Anything to banish the thought of you dating my brother."

"You aren't… angry about it, are you?"

"No. I just think it's… soon. For Calliope. It's been three months since Cordelia's funeral."

"She and Rudyard weren't still…? Were they?"

"No. He squandered that relationship eleven years ago. It was… unfortunate."

"For Rudyard?"

"For Rudyard… for Calliope… for all of us, really. He was happier with her until…"

"Yes?"

"I shouldn't say," Antigone said. "My brother isn't exactly a romantic."

"Oh, I know. I think the whole village knows. I still want this to work. But not without Calliope's blessing."

"We'll give you a week with her," Antigone said, "but I want my niece back."

"I bet. She's a great kid. She'll be a brilliant mortician someday. You've taught her well."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Chapman said. "She's bright and empathetic and hardworking… a little headstrong…"

"Yes. She needs to learn her limits."

"Antigone, you don't limit yourself. Why should Calliope?"

"Because she's a child! Christ! Am I the only one who sees that?"

Chapman was silent for a moment. He appraised Antigone for a moment. Then, very quietly he said, "She won't be forever. She's lucky to be so loved that she _can_ explore her limits."

"I- I- I hadn't thought of it like that. Do you think that's why Rudyard is so lenient with her?"

"We should ask him someday," Chapman said. "He's a brilliant dad. A brilliant man in his own way. Your whole family is brilliant."

"Are you in love with my brother or our family?"

"A bit of both, to be honest."

Antigone made a strange, hacking sound that might have passed for an "a-ha!" if it was less phlegmy. Chapman startled.

"So you _are_ in love with him! That might be the first honest thing anyone has heard you say!"

"Very mature. Funny."

"I won't tell him." Antigone's voice was soft. "I promise." 

"Thank you," Chapman said. He looked sadly at the newspaper and then at the stack of folders on his desk. "I better have a plan for the radio interview this afternoon and seeing Rudyard."

"What will you say when he confronts you?" she asked.

"I have no idea. Probably something about the tournament." He sighed. "If only I could find the map of the lake and Rudyard's itinerary…"

"You lost them?" 

"They were here yesterday! I'm sure they'll turn up before the interview."

If Chapman knew how wrong he was, he might have worried more, but as he and Antigone sifted through his files, he thought that even with the odds stacked against him, he might finally win the Funns over after all.


	10. In Which Rudyard and Chapman Go On the Air

Georgie and Madeline helped Rudyard ready for the radio interview, ensuring that he dressed well, though he wouldn’t be seen, had his outlined talking points in his pocket, and stopped doing what he called his “radio voice”, which sounded like a cross between an old Hollywood film and a stern substitute algebra teacher. 

“Just be yourself,” Georgie told him, “and stay focused on the fishin’ tournament.”

“Only if Chapman stays focused on the fishing tournament,” said Rudyard, helping Madeline into his top pocket. “If he uses it as an excuse to clear his name, I’m going to tell all the listeners to go with Funn Funerals because they can trust we are who we say we are.”

“ _Rudyard…_ ”

“I could be more ruthless, I suppose.” He sighed. “But despite everything, I don’t have the heart for it.” 

“You really do fancy him.”

“It’s worse than that,” Rudyard said. “It has been for a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s hardly your fault. I’m the one who set aside my principles because he was kind to me.”

“You know he broke up with Lady Templar before the story broke, right?” Georgie asked as they stepped outside into the warm afternoon. “After the council meeting… sometime yesterday, I think.”

“I didn’t realize you made it a habit to keep up with Eric Chapman’s personal life.”

“I don’t. He told me.”

“Ah. Did he make one of his sweeping romantic gestures towards you?” Rudyard asked. 

“Nah. I think he might have set his sights on someone else,” Georgie said. 

“That poor soul,” Rudyard murmured. Madeline squeaked in agreement. “I wish I could say I don’t envy them. _I don’t envy them_. There. I’ve said it.”

“You don’t have any reason to, sir,” Georgie said reassuringly. 

Rudyard sighed. 

“We should get to the Delacroix’s kitchen,” he said, “Maybe Chapman won’t be able to show his face.”

“Neither of you will. It’s a radio show.”

“Right.”

As Rudyard, Georgie, and Madeline made their way out of Funn Funerals, Antigone scuttled down the steps of Chapman’s alone. 

“I hope you gave him hell,” Rudyard said as she joined him and Georgie on the pavement. 

“I said my piece,” Antigone assured him. “He’ll meet up with you at the studio.”

“Let me guess: he’s rewriting his cue cards to direct focus to this morning’s paper.”

“No. He’s making copies of the map of Lake Chapman,” Antigone said. “We looked for your originals and they weren’t anywhere in sight. Did you take them home, Rudyard?”

“No, of course not,” he snapped. “Next you’ll tell me Chapman lost the itinerary, too.”

“No, I won’t tell you that,” Antigone said. 

“Can you two fight after the interview?” Georgie asked. “You’re already on thin ice with Jen since the election, Rudyard.”

“That was ages ago,” said Rudyard. 

They strolled into the Delacroix’s kitchen early enough for Mrs.Delacroix to offer them all tea and sandwiches while Jennifer played tapes of Beethoven and she and Georgie talked quietly amongst themselves. Rudyard sat on the counter with Madeline poking out of his pocket, surveying the kitchen. Antigone stood beside him, feet planted firmly on the ground. 

“You know,” Rudyard said quietly, “I was even thinking of asking him to join us after the tournament.”

“Us?”

“The family - just for dinner. I suspect Georgie is great at lake fishing and Calliope is quite the outdoorswoman. Everyone else will be eating their catches with their families and I just thought… Well, he doesn’t have one, does he?”

“No, I suppose he doesn’t.”

“And it wouldn’t be _permanent_ , of course. It’s not like I’d be asking him to move in.”

“Right.”

“It’s just dinner under the stars with the people who mean the most to me. Significant, but hardly a promise of eternal love and fidelity.”

“Rudyard…”

“I mean, I’ve been in love once before. I could do it again. I don’t particularly _want_ to, you understand, but I’d love to prove to that smug git that he isn’t the only person in this bloody village I’ve ever noticed. I have eyes.”

“Rudyard…”

“Mind you, it isn’t as if anyone in this village is worth noticing. I’d be quite content to spend the rest of my days alone.”

“You won’t be _alone_ ,” Antigone said peevishly.

“True.” A smirk quirked Rudyard’s lips. “But he will and that brings me some amount of comfort.”

“You know he didn’t break the story on himself,” Antigone said. “I’m not defending the man-”

“Then don’t-”

“- but Lady Templar is the person who booted your tournament off the front page.” She paused, allowing Rudyard time to mull the revelation over. “Why do you think she might want to do that?”

“Well, she’s been planning it for the last ten years…”

“Yes…”

“And now I’m doing something better than her little cocktail hour in Mayor Desmond’s front lawn…”

“And…?”

“And she’s jealous, naturally. It doesn’t help that she broke up with-”

“Morning, all!”

“ _Chapman!_ ” Rudyard hopped off the counter as the object of his ire and affection walked into the Delacroix’s kitchen. 

“I hope I haven’t missed any of the action,” Chapman said, inclining his head apologetically. “I got tied up at Chapman’s…”

“Antigone tells me you lost our maps and itinerary,” Rudyard said crisply.

“Jesus wept!” Antigone slunk away from the two men to join Georgie and Jennifer at the kitchen table. With her there, they added some Satie to the playlist. 

“I don’t know where they could have gone off to,” Chapman admitted sheepishly. “I’ve made copies. I… took the liberty of making spares in the first place, but then I made spares of the spares just now. I wanted to apologize-”

“I suppose I can overlook your carelessness with the maps and itinerary since you’ve taken such care to make extra copies-”

“Well, yes, for that, but for the article this morning. I had no idea Vivienne was going to go to Sid Marlowe. When Sid interviewed me, I thought it was for the article about the tournament. Now, I guess all of his questions about the rules and the event were so he could enter the tournament himself.” 

Rudyard shifted his shoulders, trying to draw himself up straight and tall and bold.

“You had to have known she would do something in retaliation when you broke up with her,” he said. “You didn’t honestly expect her to let us go forward with the tournament in peace. Couldn’t it have waited until after-?”

“No. It couldn’t. Rudyard, have you ever looked at your life and seen with perfect clarity what you want from it?” Chapman asked. “It’s been in front of your eyes the whole time and you finally dare to go for it?”

“I don’t know if you’ve met me, Mr. Chapman,” Rudyard said sharply, “but when I want something that badly, I go for it.”

For a moment, the two men sized each other up. Their eyes met and then traced each other’s lips. One of them was being more honest than he’d ever been in his life; another was lying so he could cling to the last shreds of his dignity. After all, there had been a time - plenty of times - Rudyard Funn did not go for what he wanted most in the world. In fact, until Eric Chapman came to Piffling Vale, Rudyard had let many, many opportunities pass him by. The burning in his esophagus might have been passion but it also might have been the urge to vomit. If Chapman kissed him now, Rudyard couldn’t be sure what he would do in response. Would he have kissed him back or flung him across the kitchen? Would he have been sick all over him or spewed vitriolic anger instead? Would he confess the things he had told Georgie and Antigone in quiet confidence or lock them deeper in his heart? Chapman’s presence on Piffling emboldened Rudyard, but now Rudyard had other things to consider: not only his business but his family. Would Calliope accept Chapman into their lives? She was so bored with her internship with him. Was it only that he wasn’t Antigone? Or was it something else? Would she be angry that Chapman wasn’t her mother? Before Rudyard could probe any of these thoughts too vigorously, the melancholy music ended. 

“And that was Satie’s Gymnopédie No. 1. Golly, what a depressing piece!” Jennifer said cheerfully into the radio. “After a few words from our sponsors, we’ll be right back with Piffling’s own rival funeral directors, who have come together in the name of the community!” 

As the ads played and the fog slowly lifted from Rudyard’s senses, Jennifer beckoned them to the table and told Georgie and Antigone to “scoot”. Rudyard and Chapman sat side by side, across from Jennifer and her set up. An old-fashioned microphone faced them. 

“So, I know one of you has already been hounded by the media,” Jennifer said. “And I want you to have a chance to respond to any criticism or questions callers might have about that, Mr. Chapman, but all of my prepared questions are about the fishing tournament.”

“Right, about that,” Chapman said. “Do I have to respond to criticisms about Sid’s piece? I’d really rather just… stick to the story.”

“Gosh, I don’t know about that, Mr. Chapman. I don’t control the callers,” Jennifer said. “We can certainly _try_. Don’t worry, though, I’m not expecting to break any records with how many callers we get.”

“How many callers _do_ you usually get during a show?” Chapman asked.

“One or two if we’re lucky. Although last time you were our special guest, we got four callers. Maybe we will break some records, after all!”

“Miss Delacroix, please, I think I can speak for both Rudyard and myself-”

“No, you can’t,” Rudyard said tightly.

“- When I say that the focus needs to be on the tournament.”

Before Rudyard could argue or Jennifer could respond, the ad ended and she switched into her reporter’s voice, cheerful and chipper as she welcomed her listeners back.

“I here today with Mr. Eric Chapman of Chapman’s and Mr. Rudyard Funn of Funn Funerals. Welcome, gentlemen. It’s wonderful to have you both.”

“Is it?” Rudyard asked.

“Happy to be here, Ms. Delacroix,” Chapman said smoothly. 

“I understand that you have very exciting news for us today. Are the rumors that Chapman’s and Funn Funerals are merging actually true?”

“Absolutely not. Who’s saying that?” Rudyard snapped.

“Oh, you know, they’re just… rumors…” Jennifer said vaguely. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Rudyard said. “Funn Funerals is proud to be Piffling’s only family-owned and -operated funeral home. We won’t be bought out by gimmicks and shiny promises.”

“What gimmicks and shiny promises?” Chapman asked. “I haven’t offered to buy anything from you!”

“There you have it,” Rudyard said. “There will be no merger or our two companies.”

“But we didn’t come here to talk about the funeral business,” Chapman said. He glared at Rudyard and Rudyard glared back. “We’re here to talk to you all about Piffling’s 30th Semi-Annual Fishing Tournament!”

“Gosh, that sounds exciting! What do you mean by ‘semi-annual’?”

“It means we try to do it every year,” Rudyard said, exasperated. “And this year we’re doing it on Friday on Lake Chapman in real boats with real fish and a cookout under the stars to follow.”

“That sounds lovely! What do you have to say to those critics who are upset you won’t be doing a cocktail hour at the mayor’s house?”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, “anyone could do a cocktail hour. It takes real coordination and innovation to organize a fishing tournament.”

“Not that cocktail hours aren’t lovely,” Chapman said. “They have a place. But we wanted something a little more family-friendly and community-oriented. Something kids could enjoy as well as the adults.” 

“Well, our phone line is all lit up. Let’s pause a moment and take some calls. You’re live with Piffling FM!”

“I have a question for Rudyard Funn,” Ms. Scruple said on the other line. “How come this year, you’re getting involved with the fishing tournament? It didn’t go so well for you last time you-”

“Yes, Ms. Scruple, I know,” Rudyard said tartly. “But this time we’ll be on a lake instead of the open ocean. I think you’ll find that it’s much less risky a way to host a fishing tournament.”

“I liked your deep sea fishing tournament,” she said. “And, for the record, I’m not the only one.”

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Scruple,” Rudyard said. “But this one will be on Lake Chapman.”

“Cordelia told me she thought it was a gutsy move, back when you were still doing open ocean fishing-”

Rudyard reached across the table and hung up. He folded his arms and glowered at the tabletop. 

“I’m so sorry about that, caller,” Jennifer said. “It seems we got disconnected. Feel free to call back! But it looks like we’ve got someone else on the line! Welcome to Piffling FM Radio!”

“I have a question for Eric Chapman - if, indeed, that is his real name,” said Reverend Wavering. “Eric, my boy, after this morning’s news story… can we be sure of anything you say?” 

“Nigel, it’s like I told Sid. I’m the same Eric Chapman all of you have known. I still believe in community and celebrating life and making the world a better place the only way I know how,” Chapman said. “Believe me or don’t believe me, but we will be putting on the best fishing tournament Piffling has ever seen! Fun for the whole family!”

“But how do we _know_ it’ll be fun for the whole family?” Reverend Wavering asked. “I mean, it won’t have a cocktail hour… will it?”

“We haven’t got one planned,” Chapman admitted. “Rudyard and I designed the event with families in mind, since so many of our events are adults-only. Isn’t that right, Rudyard?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“How can I trust that I’ll have fun? You’re always telling people to enjoy themselves, Mr. Chapman, if that’s your real name, but how do any of us know you mean it?”

“You just have to take it on faith, Nigel.”

“Gosh, I don’t know if I can just take anything on faith…”

The line went dead. 

“He does have a point,” Rudyard muttered. “You’ve made yourself very hard to trust in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Dammit, Rudyard-”

“No swearing on air, Mr. Chapman,” Jennifer reminded him. 

“- what do you want from me?”

“A good reason to trust you, for a start,” Rudyard said. “I’ve trusted you with the tournament and with my daughter and then this morning, everything anyone knows about you has aspersions cast on it. Give me one good reason to trust you, Chapman. And maybe if you convince me, you’ll convince some villagers and they’ll turn up to the event we’ve been pouring our all into for the last several weeks.”

“You want a reason? _Fine_.” Chapman turned to face Rudyard. His chair squeaked across the linoleum. Georgie and Antigone held their breaths. “For whatever reason, Rudyard, I care about you and your family and the whole reason I agreed to make the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament family-friendly was so that way you and yours - especially your daughter - had an opportunity to make some good summer memories. I’m sorry, Ms. Delacroix, but I have to cut my half of the interview short. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, Eric Chapman rose from the table and stormed out of the Delacroix’s house. All the lines that had been lit up in his presence went dark. 


	11. In Which Calliope Gets Un-Grounded

Calliope clutched her portable radio to her chest as she sprinted back to Funn Funerals. As her father had been interviewed by Piffling FM, she had been at Lake Chapman, listening as she instructed her scouts of their roles. On the day of the tournament, Martin was to spy, Douglas was to keep people away from their secret fireworks by any force necessary, Patrice was to set up and set off the fireworks and Calliope had set up her sabotage of the Disco Villante herself. However, adrenaline and regret pumped through her small body as she raced to get back to Funn Funerals before Mr. Chapman could arrive to the square. She hadn’t anticipated him leaving the interview early or that he might tell her father, on-air, that he’d agreed to make the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament “family-friendly” specifically so she and her dad might - dare she say it? - enjoy themselves. She’d almost told the other scouts to take the fireworks back, to call the whole thing off, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t. She’d have a full-on mutiny on her hands if she told her scouts to do one thing to earn a badge and then she yanked both task and badge away in one swoop. They would earn their sabotage and espionage badges and Calliope would watch bleakly from wherever her dad had her sidelined as her sweet revenge cloyed her stomach so much she felt sick. At last, she skidded into the square. Just as she did, Mr. Chapman looked over from his porch to theirs. He waved. 

“On your way over?” he asked. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten much set up for today. I’ve been-”

“I know. I was listening.” Calliope lifted the radio. Hesitantly, she stepped off her porch and crossed the road. “Did you really do the tournament for my family? Or was that just some weird thing to say for the media?”

Chapman’s shoulders sagged. 

“Calliope, listen, I know you don’t trust me-”

“Just answer the question,” she said. Her heart leaped around like a hooked fish in her chest. “Please, Mr. Chapman. No more weird stories or excuses. Did you do the tournament for my family?”

“Yes,” he said, voice soft. “Especially you and your father.”

Calliope felt ill. She thought of low-grade explosives and all their clever hiding spots. 

“Mr. Chapman-”

“Calliope!” 

Rudyard’s voice rang down the street as he, Antigone, and Georgie rushed towards the square. Calliope clutched the radio tighter to her chest. 

“You are not to talk to Mr. Chapman,” he said, mounting the steps quickly and steering her back down them. “Your internship with him is terminated as of right now and you will return to work in your Auntigone’s mortuary as soon as she is ready to have you.”

“So I’m grounded from Chapman’s, too?” Calliope asked. Whenever she had been grounded before, by her mother, before her passing, it had always been during the school year. Calliope always had someplace to escape punishment for a few hours. Now, her father was promising her no respite. At this rate, she’d never leave Funn Funerals until she was thirty. “Dad…”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me,” Rudyard said. “I refuse to trust my daughter with a man who has lied to everyone in this village and who would lie on-air about wanting to help us. I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, Chapman-”

“I don’t think Mr. Chapman is lying,” Calliope said. “Dad…”

“Rudyard, I’m sorry if it  _ upsets _ you but the truth is that you and your family have become very important to me in a short time. If that upsets you-”

“It does.”

“- then I guess I’ll see you at the tournament. I’ll leave my collection of entry signups in your mailbox. Have a good afternoon. Enjoy your intern.”

Chapman stepped inside his funeral home. For a moment, Rudyard and Calliope stood at the base of his steps, staring. Georgie, Antigone, and Madeline hung back across the street, watching and whispering among themselves. If Rudyard had heard them, he might have had choice words for them each. As it was he could only hear the blood rushing to his head. He marched Calliope across the street. 

“First he bumps our story off the front page, then he pretends to care about us on the radio… Does the man have no shame? Or consistency?”

“Dad, I think Mr. Chapman was telling the truth,” Calliope said. “I was listening to you two on the radio-”

“But you’re grounded from the radio!” Rudyard bemoaned.

“No, she’s not,” Georgie reminded him. 

“- and he sounded… sincere. Dad, what if he really is trying to get in your good graces?”

“I don’t know why Eric Chapman would want to be in my good books,” Rudyard said. “The whole village holds him in high enough esteem.”

“Not anymore,” said Georgie.

“Oh, I see… Now that the rest of the village hates him-” Rudyard started to try to formulate a plan or understanding, but Antigone cut him off, glaring at Georgie.

“It may not have anything to do with ‘the rest of the village’,” she said. “A person only needs to be liked by a small handful of people to have a life truly well-lived.”

“Yeah, and maybe Chapman wants one of those people to be you,” Georgie said. “Have you ever considered it?”

“Why should I?” Rudyard snapped. He gave Calliope a prod so she stumbled up the steps of Funn Funerals as he whirled onto his sister and assistant. “That man has had everything we have not since he arrived. Now that we’re Piffling’s only family-owned and -operated funeral home, he wants that because it’s the one thing he doesn’t have. He doesn’t want me or my approval or to be liked by the likes of us! Because if he  _ did _ , he wouldn’t need to set up a whole fishing tournament. He’d just have to be honest!”

“Dad…” 

“Go inside, Calliope. Everyone. Inside. I don’t want to talk about Eric Chapman anymore.” 

Rudyard was good to his word for the next several days. As the fishing tournament approached, he said nothing of Eric Chapman or their rivalry or his feelings for the man. He conducted Mrs. Locksley’s funeral with an irritated efficiency reminiscent of an earlier time. The service was small and cheaply done, but respectful and solemn. When Chapman was among the mourners, clad in a nondescript black suit, Rudyard paid him no more mind than he paid any other mourner, which was to say he ignored him altogether in favor of the schedule. The only time anyone caught him maybe, possibly thinking about Eric Chapman was when Madeline would watch him staring out the window in the mornings, watching the sunbeams glint off Chapman’s establishment. He sipped his hot water and glowered or sighed out the window, but was quick to busy himself if anyone but Madeline was present. Calliope, too, moped around Funn Funerals. Antigone did not lift her banishment from the mortuary immediately after her internship with Chapman ended. A girl could only help Georgie build so many coffins and embalm so many insects before boredom set in and boredom gave way to the anxiety about the fishing tournament. Calliope had instructed her scouts so efficiently that she was sure the plan would go off without a hitch. Her father would have been proud if only Eric Chapman was going to receive the brunt of her wrath. However, as the sign-ups rolled in, some from Rudyard’s dogged canvassing in the village and most from the mailbox, left there by Eric Chapman, Calliope knew that, sequestered in her bedroom, she wouldn’t be able to stop Douglas and Martin from protecting the perimeter or Patrice from setting up the fireworks or, well… Thoughts of the Disco Villante distressed Calliope most. At best, Chapman would be aboard his vessel alone. However, if, as her father indicated, they would both be aboard the yacht with megaphones to provide commentary, Calliope had done something her father would be furious about if he ever got the chance to come ashore to be furious. As it was, he seemed furious, meticulously organizing the entries to the tournament in a binder and making angry telephone calls to those who had not filled out their forms properly. 

The day of the tournament arrived. Calliope had not slept. Dark rings encircled her dark eyes and it was only from sheer will that she dragged herself down the steps and into the kitchen. She expected to see her father fussing over eggs and slightly-burned bacon. Instead, Antigone stood at the toaster, watching it as if it would break out into song and dance at any moment.

“Where’s Dad?” Calliope asked, shuffling to the icebox for milk. She could at least make cereal if no one was going to make her breakfast. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Antigone said irascibly. “I’m making you breakfast, don’t bother.”

“Thanks. Sorry.”

Calliope still got the milk out and poured two glasses - one for herself and one for her aunt. They stood in tense silence. At any moment, Calliope was sure, her father would burst into the kitchen to bemoan Chapman’s latest method of sabotage. Instead, the toast popped up and Antigone buttered it quickly. Calliope sat at the kitchen table, watching. 

“You aren’t grounded anymore as of today,” Antigone said, placing a plate of toast, a jar of marmalade, and a butter knife in front of Calliope. “Rudyard thought it would be best if I was the one to tell you.”

Peering up at her aunt, Calliope spread marmalade over her toast. 

“Why?”

“Because… Because… well, you and I are going to the fishing tournament together today,” Antigone said. “And tomorrow, you’ll be allowed in the mortuary again, after we’ve gone over some updated safety procedures.”

“You mean procedures that say I can’t conduct pet funerals,” Calliope muttered. “Or touch anything.”

“No. Actually, Rudyard showed me your plans. They’re… they’re good. They’re just the sort of thing I wish I had been doing at your age. But you do need permission and supervision.”

“Because you don’t trust me.”

“Because I - because  _ we _ want you to be safe,” Antigone clarified. “Calliope… I know I may not always show it but I do love you…”

Calliope bit her lip.

“You show it plenty, Auntigone,” she said. “You always take time to explain things to me and talk to me and answer my questions and you started taking an allergy pill when I moved in and… I know you love me.”

“Do you?” Antigone twisted her hair around her finger. “I… I’ve never been good at showing love. I suppose that until you, the only people I’ve ever loved are Georgie and - don’t tell him - your father. Or at least. The only people I’ve loved  _ properly _ . And you’re very different than both of them. You’re… special.”

Calliope tinged pink.

“Your second batch of toast is up.”

Antigone gave a small shriek as she rushed to butter it and slather it in jam. Then, satisfied, she joined Calliope at the table.

“I love you, too, you know,” Calliope said. “You’re the best aunt a kid could ask for. You’re the coolest person I know and you don’t try to be something you’re not.”

“I don’t try to be your mother, you mean.”

Calliope nodded, eyes hot and wet. 

“And you don’t  _ lie _ to me to make me like you. You’re you and that’s enough. More than enough.”

“Thank you.” Antigone’s voice was thick with unshed tears for a moment. Then, clearing her throat she asked, “Is that why you hated Chapman’s so much?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was  _ lying _ or just being weird, but he… he wants to date Dad. And…”

“You’re not ready?”

Calliope shook her head. Antigone sighed.

“That makes sense. It’s only been three months for you,” she said. “But… Calliope… you know your father lost your mother nearly eleven years ago, don’t you?”

“Why didn’t he fight for her?” Calliope asked. “Or for me?”

“He didn’t know about you,” Antigone said. “If he had, he would have fought for you. You and I both know that…”

“Did he love her, Auntigone? The way he loves Chapman?”

“What makes you think he-”

“I’m so tired of grown-ups keeping secrets.” Calliope put her head in her hands. “I know he loves Chapman. He tries to pretend he doesn’t, but we all know he does. Did he love Mum, too?”

“It was different,” Antigone said. “First loves are always different. And he had some… things to figure out about himself.”

“What? That he liked men?”

Antigone lowered her toast.

“Calliope, this is a conversation you should have with your father when you’re older. Right now, all you need to know is that your father cared deeply about your mother and that he loves you. And if he fancies Eric Chapman or even if he  _ loves _ him, the least we can do is support him because that’s what you do for people you love. And, despite his many flaws, we both love your father.” She took a thoughtful bite. After swallowing, she said, “And, you know, adults deserve a second chance to get love  _ right _ . Hopefully, he’s learned a thing or two from his relationship with your mum.” 

“If he marries Eric Chapman, I’m not calling him dad.”

Antigone choked on her toast. For a few moments, she sputtered and coughed, pounding her chest to dislodge the bit of food stuck in her throat. When she regained her composure, she offered Calliope a pale smile.

“No one will ever make you call Chapman ‘dad’,” she promised. “As it is, Rudyard and Chapman aren’t on speaking terms. That should make set up interesting…”

“Set up?”

“Rudyard left an hour ago. He and Chapman have things to get ready for the tournament. Speaking of which, you and I should get ready. I’ve been practicing and I have all the gear and I’ve been looking forward to spending some time with you… Can you promise me we won’t talk any more about your dad and Chapman while we fish?”

Calliope’s sleepy eyes went wild. 

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “But we need to get there before the tournament starts. Auntigone… Please…”

“Calliope…”

“I might have done something terrible. Auntigone. Please?”

Antigone sighed, looking down at her perfect, barely-touched toast. 

“Go brush your teeth and finish getting ready. We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”

Calliope rushed from the table but didn’t tell her aunt the truth: if they left in fifteen minutes, they still might be too late. It might already have been too late. 


	12. In Which Eric Chapman Tells The Truth

Red dawn rose over Piffling Vale as Rudyard Funn trudged to Lake Chapman, the binder of entry forms in tow. He hoped he would be early enough to arrive before Chapman or, better yet, that Chapman would refuse to show his face for the tournament. Canvassing for participants had been stressful, to say the least. Any time Rudyard had to campaign door-to-door, he always ended up with a blooming headache afterward, as well as the familiar heartache of remembering that he was the least-liked man on the island. This time should have been no different. He was still Rudyard Funn of Funn Funerals, but over the course of the last week, people had received him rather well by Piffling Vale’s standards. No angry mobs chased him to the cliffs. He was only called “horrid” a handful of times. Bill, as he signed him and Tanya up for the tournament upon their homemade boat named the “Jerr-i-licious”, had mentioned that he was glad Rudyard was the one who’d come by to ask.

“Chapman was here half an hour ago,” he said. “We pretended we weren’t home. I like the bloke well enough, he’s nice and all, but I don’t  _ trust  _ him anymore. Not since that news article.”

“Yes, I imagine it’s hard to trust a slippery devil, like Eric Chapman,” Rudyard murmured as he watched Bill fill in his information. 

“I wish Jerry could have seen Chapman get exposed for what he really is,” Bill said, choking up a bit. “Maybe then he wouldn’t have… Wouldn’t have…”

The waterworks had been a bit much for Rudyard to handle, but to his surprise and relief, no other villagers cried when he came to get them to sign up for the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament. It also pleased him to know that even though Chapman had gotten more signatures, he’d probably had to endure rigorous questioning and dubious glances Rudyard had always known the tables would turn one day. He’d always known it would please him.

He hadn’t known that he would wonder what Chapman did at night, once the bar and the swim baths closed for the evening across the square. Did he sleep fitfully, knowing how unliked he was? Did he sleep at all? Rudyard sometimes - only sometimes - watched out his bedroom window and wondered what it was his neighbor and rival and begrudged object of affection might be doing at eleven o’clock at night. He didn’t suppose he’d ever know. He wouldn’t  _ ask _ . Not in any real or kind way. He was determined that if Chapman arrived at all, he would revert to a strict regimen of rivalry, hyperfocus on the tournament, and witty repartee. No feelings. No questions. Nothing that might indicate that he still hurt, knowing that for all the things he  _ felt _ about Eric Chapman, he didn’t really know the man. He knew his schedule, the difference between his real and his people-pleasing laughs, the anecdotes he told… But what did he really know? What did any of them really know? And to think, Rudyard had almost let Chapman get close to his daughter! All for what? 

Chapman arrived, of course, bearing a hand truck full of supplies: folded card tables and chairs, fishing gear and sunscreen, and life jackets. Two megaphones sat atop an ice chest that Rudyard could only assume contained alcoholic beverages, not sanctioned by their code of conduct. He scowled at Chapman.

“So you decided to come, after all,” he said crisply. 

“Of course I did,” Chapman said. “We put a lot of work into this. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“What’s in there?” Rudyard pointed to the ice chest. “Light ales?”

“No, though I’m flattered you remember,” Chapman said. “No. Just some soft drinks and bottled water to tide us over.”

“Us?”

“You and me. I know you said there isn’t an ‘us’, but for the sake of brevity…” Chapman sighed. “You and I are going to be on the Disco Villante, like we agreed, to do the commentary.”

Rudyard looked at Chapman’s yacht, moored at the dock. The color drained from his face. 

“We agreed on that before you decided to pull a publicity stunt,” Rudyard said. “I don’t want to spend an entire afternoon with you on a yacht when I can man the booth safely on the shore.”

“Mmm.” Chapman seemed to agree or at least consider Rudyard’s point “But Georgie’s agreed to man the booth. She said so after you left the village council meeting.”

“Then where the hell is she?”

“She doesn’t have to be here as early,” Chapman said. “You and I have to get the table set up for her and then get the yacht into the center of the lake.”

“Why?”

“So we can have a good view of everyone, make sure no one’s cheating, provide witty commentary for onlookers, that sort of thing.”

Rudyard beat the folding table into submission, propping it up on metal legs. He proceeded to do the same with the chairs. He thought it would help his frustration. It didn’t, but it tired him out enough to agree to join Chapman on the Disco Villante when he finished fussing with the set up of the table for Georgie and the media. He followed Chapman aboard. He’d only been on Chapman’s yacht twice and the experiences hadn’t been pleasant. He’d been sopping wet, shoeless, and wrapped in a shock blanket as an important-looking man named Michael Douglas eyed him with some kind of revulsion. Rudyard didn’t really remember much. He knew there’d been a buffet and a limbo stick and the sort of party gimmicks he loathed. The other time… well… it had been last summer and even though he wouldn’t admit it, Rudyard had gotten seasick and wrecked the yacht in a fit of hubris. The repairs Chapman had made to the boat hardly showed any scarring from Rudyard’s misadventure. He looked at Chapman peevishly as the gangplank was raised and they donned life jackets. 

“Can’t be too careful,” Chapman said. “Red sky at morning-”

“- and the day will be boring, yes, I know the saying,” Rudyard said. 

“Er… No. Red sky at morning means a sailor’s warning.”

“Since when?”

“I dunno,” Chapman said. “I think it’s in the bible.”

“I don’t think anyone on this island has read the bible,” Rudyard said. “Except Bill.”

“Speaking of, thank you for getting him and Tanya to sign up.” Chapman walked to the wheel. He fiddled with the controls in ways Rudyard couldn’t hope to understand. “I know they were pretending not to be home when I stopped by the other day.”

Rudyard said nothing. He instead sat down on one of the cushioned seats, holding a megaphone in his lap. 

“Do we have a script? As commentators?” he asked. 

“I thought you might have taken care of that,” Chapman said. “You’re really good at writing speeches.”

“You’re the only one who thinks so,” Rudyard said. “No one listens when I speak.”

"Children do."

"Not adults. They find me... _pedantic_."

“So you need an editor,” Chapman said. “I used to do some work for Simon and Schuster-”

“- a long time ago. I know how this story ends. Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not,” Chapman said. “I’m just telling you a story.”

“You are terrible at telling stories.”

“I’m terrible at telling stories?”

“They all end the same. “A long time ago.” We get it, Chapman. You think you’re mysterious, but you’re not. You’re just a liar who tricks people into liking him, who makes up fantastic adventures in hopes that other people will think you’re more interesting than you are. And the funny thing is, I thought I was immune and then-” 

Rudyard cut himself off and looked at the shrinking shoreline. 

“No. You thought you were immune and then what?” Chapman prodded.

“It’s none of your business if I fell for you and your act. I have closed that chapter of my life.”

“Close the chapter all you’d like, Rudyard,” Chapman said, voice jagged with pain. “But it isn’t an act.”

“There is no way one man could have done everything you claim to have done-”

“Yes, there is! I’ve done it all! Traveled the world, starred on Broadway, won the Mr. Sunshine Competition, and none of it - not a single thing of it - has ever brought me joy. Not like running a funeral home opposite yours has. Not like being a member of this community. Not like spending time with you.”

“Then why are you always going on about them? If you did all these amazing things and they made you miserable-”

“- I didn’t say they made me miserable -”

“- Why do you always talk about them?”

Silence passed between the two men. Rudyard had at some point leaped to his feet. He now stood opposite the controls, staring furiously into Chapman’s face. Chapman looked up from captaining the yacht. His blue eyes were wide and he blinked slowly. His chest rose and fell hard. Rudyard thought he looked rather trapped and he almost liked the sight. 

“Rudyard, listen, I don’t expect you to understand…”

“Try me.”

Chapman sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he frowned suddenly. Panic lit his eyes and he turned to the controls again. For a moment he muttered - cursed, from the sounds of it - to himself.

“Dammit, Rudyard, we aren’t going anywhere.”

“Well, of course, we aren’t,” Rudyard said. “You won’t tell me anything.”

“No, I mean, look at the shoreline,” Chapman said. 

“What about it?”

“We’re not further from it than we were two minutes ago,” Chapman said. “We haven’t moved at all.”

Rudyard came around to the control side of the steering and looked at the panels that displayed in friendly fonts and crisp whites and navies. The fuel gauge, however, was a bright red.

“We’re out of fuel,” Rudyard said. “Did you forget to fill up? How careless-”

“I filled up when I moored the boat. There must be a leak…”

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Wait for help to arrive, I suppose,” Chapman said grimly. “I’m sure Georgie’s great at rescuing people from motionless yachts.”

“I’m sure she is,” Rudyard said. “But don’t you have lifeboats…?”

“Not since someone crashed my yacht into a resort island last summer.”

“Well, I’m sorry-”

“Apology accepted.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.”

“Blimey.”

Chapman came around from the steering and sat on the cushion. He sank into it and put his head in his hands. 

“I’m not used to being the one who needs saving,” he said.

“You get used to it after a while,” Rudyard said brightly, sitting next to him. “You don’t always have to be the hero.”

“I do, though. That’s the thing of it,” Chapman said. He laughed dryly, bitterly. “As I said, I don’t expect you to understand-”

“Well, we have some time before anyone will arrive,” Rudyard said. “So. As I said: try me.”

“I thought I was bad at telling stories,” Chapman said, looking over at Rudyard bleakly. 

“I’m sure I can survive one bad story,” Rudyard said. “It will probably end with ‘a long time ago.’”

“Actually, that’s where this one  _ starts _ ,” Chapman said. “Do you promise not to interrupt?”

“No.” Rudyard paused. “But I will listen.”

“A long time ago, when I was about six, my father left. I don’t mean he  _ abandoned _ us, not exactly. He sent regular checks to Mum and he’d visit on birthdays when he could remember, but he left to go adventuring. Said the travel bug bit him. Mum always said he was a restless spirit. I’d get postcards from the Himalayas or the Sahara or some city I’d never heard of. And when he’d come back, he’d be full of stories of all the great things he’d done. I idolized him, you understand. But when I told him what  _ I’d _ been doing while he was gone… he always looked so disappointed. Like it wasn’t enough. I joined the army reserves when I was twelve - lied about my age - and started adventuring myself. It was the only time he seemed to take an interest in what I was doing and even then, half the things I did, he’d done first.” Chapman paused and sighed. “I don’t think he was ever impressed with me. He died when I was twenty-five. Cave-diving accident. That was when I got it in my head to become a funeral director. The family who buried my father - a small family business in central London - took me on as an apprentice. They were fascinated by my stories and so were clients and people I met in pubs and bars and… People liked me for all the things I’d done that my father hadn’t cared about. People liked me, but I didn’t  _ belong _ anywhere. Like I said, I apprenticed with a family business and it was  _ very _ clear I wasn’t family. I opened my own practice, took holidays to adventure a bit more, made a name for myself in the STIFD community, but nothing felt right. I loved what I did as a mortician - helping families in their time of need - and going on adventures in my spare time. It wasn’t until I met my friend, Strahil, in Venezuela that I realized what I wanted - a family, a community, people who liked me for me. I thought I found some of that in Piffling, but it was more of the same. People liked me for my stories and for what I could do for them. But then there was you.”

“I didn’t like you when you came to Piffling,” Rudyard said.

“Believe me, I know. It was a shock to the system. I remember thinking if I could just win you over, it would mean more than winning over all of Piffling Vale. And when I realized  _ that _ and when I realized that I didn’t just want “a family”, but to be a part of  _ your _ family, things had changed  _ again _ ...”

“ _ Calliope _ .”

“I knew instantly that she was your daughter,” Chapman said. “The day Cordelia died. And I didn’t know what to do. I… I almost expected you to be like my dad. Detached, wrapped up in your own world. But you changed everything for her.”

“I love her.”

“I know. And watching you parent her…Watching you blossom... it made me love you more,” Chapman said. “I promised Calliope I wouldn’t tell you until I had her trust and approval, but… Well…”

“You told Calliope you’re in love with me?”

“More or less.”

“Now look here-”

“You don’t have to feel the same way,” Chapman said. “But I promised Antigone I’d be honest with you when the time came. And I think the time is here, now that we’re stranded on a lake, in a boat, until Georgie or  _ somebody _ arrives to rescue us.”

“Chapman, I…”

Rudyard fell silent. He looked at his lap and then at Chapman’s broken face. He’d never seen him like that. There was only one thing to do. Rudyard leaned across the bench and kissed Eric Chapman clumsily on the mouth. His lips were chapped against Chapman’s soft skin and it was very clear after only a few seconds that it had been over a decade since Rudyard Funn had ever kissed anyone. Still, he pressed firmly against Chapman. It felt more like coming home than fireworks, but that didn’t stop the loud banging and flares from going off onshore alerting the entire village that the Piffling Scouts had been there and were trying to send their message to the world. Of course, the message was muddied severely as a breathless Calliope, and Antigone, trailed by Georgie carrying Madeline, arrived just in time to see Rudyard and Chapman kissing in the center of the lake. Slowly, the red cast of dawn gave way to bluer skies, and the other villagers arrived to Lake Chapman, just as confused and gossipy as always.

Somehow, finally, the two men aboard the Disco Villante couldn’t have cared less what other people had to say, even as Sid Marlowe and Jennifer Delacroix started up their press junket. 


	13. In Which Chapman Finds a Family

The kiss only lasted a few moments - just long enough, perhaps, to be seen by Rudyard’s family on the shore, just long enough to leave both men breathless and dazed as they stared at each other.

“Why are there fireworks?” Rudyard asked.

“You felt it too?”

“No. I mean. I didn't feel it as fireworks, but… Chapman, look!”

Chapman tore his gaze from Rudyard to see fireworks blaze smokily like distant gunfire shot into the sky. He rushed to the side of the boat for a better look. Rudyard raced behind him. 

“Get Calliope away from those explosives!” he yelled, though whether he was yelling at Antigone or Georgie, it was impossible to tell. 

“What about you?” Antigone yelled back as Georgie put herself between Calliope and danger. 

“We’re… We’ll be fine,” Rudyard lied.

Shielding Calliope with their bodies, Georgie and Antigone scuttled to the safer side of the shoreline. The second dock protruded out from the land, lined with boats, ready for the big day. Another explosion went off, closer to the Disco Villante - more like a warning shot than something aimed to do harm.

“Rudyard!” Georgie called out.

“It’s fine!”

“It’s not bloody well fine!” Antigone shot back. “Can’t you do something? Can’t Chapman?”

“It’s a little difficult at the moment…” Chapman gritted out after another explosion scattered sparks into the air. 

“If you don’t get my brother out of danger-”

“It’s not his fault!” Rudyard snapped. “We ran out of petrol!”

“How do you run out of petrol on the Disco Villante?” Antigone shouted back. “Doesn’t he keep the thing well-stocked?”

“I do but we’re out of fuel all the same!” Chapman yelled back. “Just get Calliope safe. When the explosives stop-”

“- I’ll get a rescue boat and some fuel out to you,” Georgie said loudly. “I’m great at water rescues.”

“There should only be five more,” Calliope said quietly. “Don’t worry.”

Rudyard and Chapman couldn’t hear her, but Antigone and Georgie could and they turned to look at her, incredulously. 

“Calliope…?” Antigone ventured gently. 

Calliope shoved away from her aunt and from Georgie and tossed her hands into the air uselessly. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she glowered up at the women she idolized so much. Surely, they’d be disappointed in her.

“I was angry at Mr. Chapman!” She put her hands on her hips. “And then I wasn’t and I wanted to get here early to stop… But now I’m… He was kissing Dad! After he promised not to!”

“Technically,” Rudyard called out, only having heard the last bit, “I was kissing him.”

Another firework went off. Shock scrawled itself across Antigone’s, Georgie’s, and Calliope’s faces in various fonts. 

“Why?” Calliope shouted back.

“Because… well… despite everything… I like Mr. Chapman!”

Another firework. Georgie dashed to a moored motorboat and began to load it with cans of petrol she scavenged from other vessels. 

“I like that he cares about our family, even when we were busy not liking him-”

A third firework. Antigone gripped Calliope’s shoulders. 

“I like that he’s kind to you and supportive of your aunt and that he annoys Georgie more than I do-”

A fourth one. Chapman smiled.

“I like that he’s honest with me, even if he keeps secrets from the rest of the village and I like that he’s fastidious and hardworking and not as funny as he thinks he is and I like kissing him and-”

The final firework. The blast roared in the sky and gold sparkles flickered in the hazy air. 

“- I might love him. Or I might love him one day. It’s all the same, really.”

Rudyard’s ears rang in the silence. Chapman’s hand gently closed over the top of his. 

“He’s an acquired taste.” Rudyard was still yelling. “And I don’t expect you to love him - or even like him - overnight. I know he said he’d wait but if you’re going to be mad at one of us, be mad at me for kissing him without your blessing.”

Calliope folded into Antigone’s side and refused to look at her father. Georgie started up her motorboat and ventured out into the lake towards the Disco Villante with Madeline in her pocket. Rudyard awaited their help and their judgment. 

“You didn’t have to take the fall with Calliope,” Chapman said softly, squeezing Rudyard’s fingers. 

“Sometimes the best thing I can do as her father is to validate her feelings and apologize when I’ve hurt them,” Rudyard said. It was not a lesson he applied broadly. “She’ll forgive me. We’re family.”

“Are you… sorry for kissing me? And maybe being in love with me?”

“Oh, yes,” Rudyard said. He sighed. “I’m sorrier than anyone, but there isn’t anything to be done about it now. I’ve come to care for you a lot since you came to this island and once I care about somebody, I don’t really ever stop. I’m glad it doesn’t happen often.”

“I think you care about more people than you’re willing to admit.” A smile wriggled its way on Chapman’s lips. 

“Take that back!” Rudyard hissed. 

“No, I mean, there’s me, there’s Calliope, there’s Madeline, there’s Antigone, there’s-”

“Oy! Lovebirds!”

“- there’s Georgie with the petrol,” Rudyard finished. “Do you need us to lower the gangplank?”

“You don’t know how to do that,” Chapman said. 

“Right.”

Rudyard allowed Chapman and Georgie to negotiate the rescue situation, while he watched two of the most capable people he knew bicker. Madeline came across on a bit of rope - a bit of tightrope walking that Rudyard was quite impressed with - and now sat upon his shoulder. 

“I suppose now you’re the only person I haven’t talked to about Eric Chapman,” he said quietly.

Madeline squeaked.

“Of course you knew,” he said fondly. “You’ve always been cleverer than me by half. You’re not… angry? Or disappointed?”

Some more squeaking.

“What do you mean your book needed some more romance in it?”

Madeline squeaked sheepishly and climbed into Rudyard’s top pocket. He sighed. 

“Do you approve, though?” he asked. “I know Calliope doesn’t. I’ll give her time to adjust. Children are good at adjusting. But… how do you feel about it all?”

Madeline squeaked her answer and Rudyard smiled.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Madeline.”

At that moment, Georgie and Chapman finished refilling the gas tank. Chapman thanked Georgie profusely and she held up a hand.

“You can thank me by not cockin’ things up with Rudyard,” she said. “Because if you hurt him-”

“Antigone will cut my body into a thousand tiny pieces and you’ll scatter each little bit so I can’t be found.”

“Just so we’re clear. Cheers.” Georgie turned to look at Rudyard. “Cal’s gonna be…”

“I know.”

“Do we have a plan?” Georgie asked. 

“I had been thinking of inviting Chapman to join us for dinner tonight,” Rudyard said. “But I hadn’t planned on kissing him and that might throw a spanner into the works.” 

Georgie sighed. Before she could say any more, Chapman walked to the side of the yacht. 

“Do either of you know those children?” he asked, pointing as three figures emerged from the trees and shrubs surrounding Lake Chapman, rushing towards Calliope. “Because I think I recognize a few of them from the Piffling Scouts…” 

Rudyard and Georgie followed. To his dismay, Rudyard recognized all three children as members of Calliope’s scout troop and some of her very best friends in the last few months: Douglas, who liked to shove; Martin, who liked to help; and Patrice, who liked to set things on fire. Grimacing, he looked at the other two.

“I think I know who set up the fireworks,” Rudyard said. “And who emptied your tank, Chapman.”

“Ah.”

“Georgie, can you take me ashore?” asked Rudyard. “And… maybe… depending… bring me back to the Disco Villante before the start of the tournament?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “Are you goin’ to ground Cal again?”

“It doesn’t seem to be very effective, does it?”

They arrived at the shore in time for Georgie to set up, just as the first villagers were arriving with questions about the morning fireworks display. As she fielded questions and helped Jennifer and Sid get set up to provide media coverage for the event, Rudyard sought out his sister and daughter, who were surrounded by eager ten-year-olds.

“Did you see the last really big one?” Patrice asked. “That was my favorite!”

“The fireworks were well good,” Douglas said, “But me and Martin kept anyone from gettin’ too close or ruinin’ the plans!”

“When your father finds out you planned this,” Antigone hissed, “I have no idea what he’s going to do, but I wouldn’t expect to leave the funeral home until you’re grown-”

“Actually,” Rudyard said. “That’s not the plan. Yet, anyway. The three of you better go back to your parents before I find Agatha Doyle and have her put you in prison overnight.” 

Calliope’s friends scattered. She turned her large eyes to him and the burning Rudyard saw there made his heart ache. He didn’t smile or frown at his daughter, but kept his expression as neutral as he could when he said to her -

“Walk with me.”

He, Calliope, and Madeline set off away from the event and away from the main road, towards a clearing of sandy beach on the shore of Lake Chapman. Rudyard sat on a rock and invited Calliope to do the same. Hesitantly, she joined him. Rudyard stared into the distance as people in secondhand and homemade boats pushed out into the lake, surrounding the Disco Villante. In many ways, this had been his dream for the event nearly ten years ago. He’d settled for ocean fishing because no one knew about the lake. It hadn’t impressed Cordelia. Or maybe it had. It didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t allowed to matter anymore. It did no good. Now, his ideas for the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament had impressed Chapman. However, Calliope was not impressed. Not with the lake fishing, not with Rudyard’s choice in partner, and certainly not Rudyard. For a moment, he thought about Chapman’s father and thought he could understand why a man might go to the ends of the earth for adventures to write to his son about. At the end of the day, even though his own parents would have heartily disagreed with this conclusion, didn’t most parents want to be not only respected but liked by their children? Chapman’s father had overshot it and gotten too self-absorbed in that quest. Rudyard’s parents had never even tried. There had to be a moderate place for Rudyard to exist with Calliope, where she liked and respected him, even if she didn’t always agree with him or he didn’t always understand her. Sighing, he swiveled to look at her.

“Why did you do this, Calliope?” he asked very quietly. “You could have gotten yourself or your friends or one of us hurt very badly.”

“How come it’s okay when you try to sabotage Chapman, but it isn’t okay when I try to?”

“Things have changed since I used to try to sabotage Chapman,” Rudyard said. “He isn’t our enemy anymore.”

“Maybe.” Calliope toed the sand, kicking up bits of rock and shell. “But he isn’t Mum, either.”

“I don’t think he wants to be.”

“I guess.” A pause. “Would you have dated Chapman if Mum was still alive?”

“I... I don’t know,” Rudyard confessed. “Your mother and I had a falling out before you were born and I don’t know if she and I would have reconciled.”

“But if you had?”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said. “Your mother was an incredible woman and she was very special to me-”

“But?”

“ _ But _ I don’t know what would have happened in a world where things were different. I can’t ever know and speculating does no one any good. What I do know is that we can’t put our lives on hold forever when we lose someone we love. And that whatever your mother wanted for or from me, she would want you to be happy.”

“Then why are you dating Chapman? To make  _ me _ happy?”

“No. I want to date Chapman because spending time with him makes me happy. I know it’s selfish of me. He told me he wasn’t going to mention anything to me until he had your approval.”

“Yes. He promised.”

“What do we need to do to get your approval?”

“... We?”

“You heard me earlier. I do like Chapman very much and for us, this is the next logical step. He’s not the only one that needs your blessing.” 

“Dad… I... “

“I trust your judgment,” Rudyard said, “even if you’ve made a few questionable choices in the last two weeks. What do Chapman and I need to do to get your approval?”

“Is he going to treat you all right?” Calliope asked, the words bursting from her mouth in a rush. “Is he going to keep trying to compete with us? What if you two have a row and you don’t talk for eleven years or until one of you dies? And what if before you two have a falling out, I end up actually liking him and he’s just another person gone? What if he wants me to call him ‘dad’? I don’t want another dad. I just want you. I don’t want someone messing with our family or breaking your heart or leaving!”

“No one is going to mess with our family or break my heart or  _ leave _ -”

“But  _ if _ he did-”

“Then we will deal with it as a family like we always do,” Rudyard said. He put his hand on Calliope’s back. “I know you’re… just getting used to our family in its current configuration, but if becoming your father has taught me anything, it’s that there’s always room to care about just one more person. Even love them.”

“Do you really love Mr. Chapman?” Calliope scooted closer to her father.

“I think I might,” Rudyard confessed. “I think I might have loved him for longer than even I realize.”

“I’m not going to call him ‘dad’,” Calliope said. “Not ever.”

“I wouldn’t let you.” Rudyard smiled. “I worked too hard to be the only man you call ‘dad’.”

“And you and I are going to spend time, just the two of us, without him around.”

“Of course.”

“And I don’t want to intern at his mortuary. He’s not as good as Auntigone.”

“No, no one is.”

“And I’m allowed to take Georgie’s side when she fights with him.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“All right,” Calliope said. “Then you have my blessing.”

“That’s… it?”

“I just wanted to be asked,” Calliope said. “At first I thought I wanted to be able to tell you no, but… Really, I just want… I want you to take my opinion seriously. And I want you to be happy. And I haven’t seen you as  _ un _ happy as you have been, fighting with Chapman for real.”

“Calliope, I… Thank you. You won’t regret it!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Calliope said, offering Rudyard a shy, shaky smile. 

Rudyard relished it, smiling back broadly. If Calliope were younger, he might have scooped her up. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to his side for a moment. They looked out at the lake again and Jennifer Delacroix’s voice crackled out over dozens of portable radio and boat radio speakers: “Only ten minutes until the 30th Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament kicks off and, my, what a crowd we have already!”

“Come on.” Calliope hopped to her feet. “Let’s get you back to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my- Is he?”

Calliope shrugged.

“I don’t know how all that romance stuff works. I don’t want to know.”

Rudyard and Calliope walked back to where Antigone stood, fretting over a small rowboat. It looked like it was made from the same wood that Rudyard and Georgie built coffins out of. Painted along the side was the word “Undertwo”.

“It’s clever,” Georgie was saying as she marked it down in her binder as the name of Antigone Funn’s boat.

“It was  _ supposed _ to be the “Undertow Two” with Roman numerals and fancy script!” Antigone argued. “Now it’s just a bad pun…”

“Hey, I made the bad pun,” Georgie said. “I am great at bad puns.”

“I’m not even going to get to take the boat out on the water and Rudyard’s going to be snide about it…”

“No, he isn’t,” Rudyard said. “Undertwo. It’s catchy.”

“Point for Georgie,” Georgie said, grinning. “You ready to go back to the Disco Villante?”

“In a moment,” Rudyard said. “Calliope, one more thing before I go to emcee this event?”

“Yeah?”

“Do what your aunt asks you to do,” he said quietly. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he caught Antigone’s gaze. “I think the last two weeks would have gone much more smoothly if we’d established that code of conduct first.”

Calliope laughed weakly and held up her fingers in a scouting salute.

“I will do whatever Auntigone tells me to do.”

After bidding them goodbye, Rudyard climbed aboard Georgie’s motorboat and she took him back to the Disco Villante. Chapman rushed to let Rudyard back on the boat and Rudyard passed Madeline back to Georgie so that he could have some alone time with Chapman as the day wore on. Armed with megaphones and their usual levels of banter, Rudyard and Chapman narrated the day. The only interruption, which Mayor Desmond found riveting and told the men to spotlight for the fifteen minutes it lasted, was the protest to non-sustenance fishing that the village hoodlums set up aboard a boat made entirely of recycled materials. By and large, the other residents of Piffling followed the rules and enjoyed themselves. Some even gave interviews with Jennifer and Sid between rounds, but no one was sure who the audience really was, since everyone in the village seemed to have come out to the lake for the day. Onshore, there were a few sunbathers. Rudyard spotted Lady Templar under a lacy parasol, whispering to Sid Marlowe. He tensed and directed Chapman’s attention towards her.

Lowering his megaphone, Rudyard asked, “What are you going to do if she convinces Sid to publish another article?”

“Let her, I suppose,” Chapman said. “I’ve told the truth to the one person who really matters and that’s what’s important.”

“If you think I’m going to kiss you again with all these people watching, you are badly mistaken.”

“Ashamed?”

“Anti-exhibitionist,” Rudyard clarified. “I’ve never understood the lack of dignity the people of this village have when it comes to their personal affairs.” 

Chapman chuckled. 

Morning faded into the afternoon and afternoon into the evening. As dusk came, Mayor Desmond boarded the Disco Villante for the awards ceremony - trophies went to the catcher of the largest fish, most fish, and funniest looking fish. He took Rudyard’s megaphone to make his closing speech.

“You know,” he said, “the last week as we’ve prepared for this grand event… well, it gives a man time to think. These two men...they’ve put aside their professional differences and all the petty drama of local gossip to give us something truly spectacular and I think it’s little things like that - the camaraderie between neighbors and events like the Semi-Annual Piffling Fishing Tournament that will make all the difference in turning our dear little village into a dear little town!”

Applause rang out across the shoreline and Desmond Desmond handed Rudyard back his megaphone.

“I did want to ask which one of you had the bright idea of setting up the fireworks this morning, though. I don’t remember getting any paperwork about any fireworks…”

Rudyard was about to lie and say it had been his idea when Chapman jumped in.

“Yes, we know, you’re usually kept very busy, Des.”

“You know, I am!” Desmond said. “Pity I didn’t come across that paperwork. It was a brilliant idea. I think we should start all of our future fishing tournaments with morning fireworks. It’s a bit different, you know…”

After that, Mayor Desmond rejoined Reverend Wavering aboard their little sailboat and they sailed off into the sunset. Rudyard and Chapman watched them go.

“Thank you for covering for her,” Rudyard said when the mayor was out of earshot. “I was about to tell him I’d done it.”

“I know,” Chapman said. “You’re a good dad, Rudyard. … And we both know Des wouldn’t have taken kindly to thinking you’d skirted protocol. I don’t think he would have  _ believed _ you wouldn’t follow protocol.”

“Right.”

“Let’s go ahead and dock,” Chapman said. “I know you’re probably eager to see what Calliope and Antigone caught and to spend the evening with them.”

“I am.” Rudyard paused. “But… Chapman?”

His chest was tight. He could feel the electrical impulses in his nerves prickle as Chapman looked hopefully, warily, at him. Rudyard inhaled deeply through his nose. 

“I was wondering if you might join us for dinner,” Rudyard said. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’, especially if you have other plans or aren’t interested-”

“I’d be delighted.” Chapman worried his lip. “Is Calliope all right with it?”

“With dinner or with us?”

“Both, really.”

“We have her blessing, with some conditions, of course.”

“If she didn’t have conditions, I’d wonder whether she was really your daughter,” Chapman teased.

“You conducted the paternity test.”

“Rudyard…” Chapman sighed. “I’d be delighted to have dinner with you and your family tonight.”

And so they docked and moored the Disco Villante and joined Antigone, Calliope, Georgie, Madeline, and Jennifer around a campfire Calliope had taught Antigone how to make, arriving just in time for the first stars to come out. Calliope’s array of fish was not the biggest caught in Lake Chapman, but they were more than enough to feed the family. Even Antigone’s contribution - a few, small lake trout - were just the right size to cook over an open fire. Rudyard reached into the ice chest Chapman had been carting around all day for a cola and popped it open with a fizz, leaning back comfortably to listen as Calliope regaled the group with a story of how bravely Antigone had rescued a small turtle from the fishing line. 

“It’s a shame she let it live, though,” she said thoughtfully. “I would have liked to start my pet funeral business with an animal that size.”

“Is it really a pet funeral, though, if you’re creamatin' wildlife?” Georgie asked. “I mean, I know some people keep turtles for pets…”

“It’d still be good practice,” Calliope insisted. “Once Auntigone and I get the cremulator working again.”

“With _ out _ catching anything on fire,” Antigone clarified. 

Rudyard smiled and then hazarded a glance over to Chapman, who sat at his side. He’d been very quiet this evening, listening to Calliope’s stories with rapt attention and laughing at Georgie’s jokes, even the ones at his expense. He’d talked a little light shop with Antigone and Rudyard couldn’t help but think that maybe things were going to be all right. A shadow fell over their campfire.

“Eric, m’boy,” Sid Marlowe said. “I just wanted to apologize for doubtin’ you in the press the other day. This fishing tournament was a real treat. Petunia and I haven’t had a proper date like this in ages!”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” Chapman said diplomatically, “but most of it was Rudyard’s idea.”

“Rudyard Funn, eh?” Sid looked over at Rudyard, appraising him for a silent, judgmental moment. He looked back at Chapman. “You could do worse, y’know.”

“Believe me: I know,” Chapman said. 

“So you were snogging when me and Miss Piffling FM pulled up to the scene!”

“That’s five quid you owe me, Sid,” Jennifer said. 

“Insider trading,” Sid said, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a five-pound note. “Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if I was you, Miss Delacroix…”

The money exchanged hands and Georgie, Jennifer, and Rudyard exchanged looks of amusement and dismay. 

“Best of luck to you boys,” Sid said. “No hard feelings, eh, Eric?”

“None,” Chapman promised. “You were just doing your-”

“I have some hard feelings towards you Mr. Marlowe,” Rudyard said. “I will be writing a very strongly worded letter to your editor - even if you  _ are _ your own editor - complaining about the libel campaign you engaged in with the help of Lady Vivienne Templar to besmirch Eric Chapman’s reputation.”

“I look forward to not readin’ it, Rudyard,” Sid said. “I have a collection of your complaint letters. It’s about time I got another one.”

Chapman took Rudyard’s hand in his gently.

“I’ll see you lot later,” said Sid. “Lady Templar’s hosting a cocktail hour on the lawn of her mansion and Petunia and I are goin’ to get sloshed. But, when the hangover goes away, you two will do an interview…”

“Of course, Sid,” Chapman said. “Happy to-”

“Only if you allow us to use it to clear Mr. Chapman’s good name,” Rudyard said. 

“Will I still get my complaint letter? I really do collect ‘em.”

“Yes, all right. I’ll write you a letter of complaint and we’ll do the interview.”

In the distance, Petunia called for Sid.

“Gotta go. Nice doin’ business with you two.”

Sid Marlowe disappeared into the darkness. For a moment, Rudyard relaxed. 

“You didn’t have to defend me,” Chapman said. “I’m glad you did but-”

“But nothing,” Rudyard said. “Chapman, if you’re going to be my boyfriend, Calliope isn’t the only one with conditions. And one of my conditions is that you let me defend you when the village inevitably turns on you. And, believe me, when they find out about us-”

“So there  _ is _ an ‘us’ now…”

“- they  _ will _ turn on you.”

“So it’s true then?” Lady Templar’s voice cut into the conversation like a blade. She hung off the arm of her husband Lord Simon Templar, who smiled blithely and had fantastically manicured eyebrows. He waved at Chapman. “What the horrid girl from the radio show was saying is actually true?”

Rudyard and Chapman looked at Jennifer. She shrugged helplessly.

“Hey, in her defense, she was just talkin’ to me,” Georgie said. “It’s not her fault some people can’t mind their own business.”

“Is  _ this _ why you had to make a public scene to end our affair?” Lady Templar asked, gesturing snidely at Rudyard. “I mean, of all the people in Piffling Vale-”

“- I picked the best one,” Chapman finished before she could. “No offense, Simon. You’re a real sweetheart, too. Viv’s lucky to have you and I am lucky to have Rudyard.” 

“You deserve each other,” Simon said. “In a good way! You always seemed happier when-”

“Shut up, Simon,” Lady Templar said tightly. “They deserve each other because they’re both low-life scum, who-”

“Vivienne, we talked about this,” Simon said softly. He looked apologetically at the rag-tag family sitting around the campfire. “We came over to invite you all for cocktails. We’re hosting an afterparty. It’s not official or anything, but…”

“Thanks, Simon,” Chapman said. “But…”

He seemed to be looking for a good reason to say “no”. He could have said he didn’t want to spend another minute in Lady Templar’s company. He could have said that Rudyard didn’t drink or that a cocktail hour was no place for Calliope. He could have said anything, instead, Calliope piped up.

“But we’re having a family night, Lord Templar,” she said. “Maybe the grown-ups can catch up with you some other time.”

The Templars said their goodbyes, bickering with each other as they left the lakeside and headed towards their mansion in the distance. Rudyard looked at Chapman, astounded. Chapman meanwhile, looked at Calliope.

“Calliope… thank you…”

She shrugged. 

“You stood up for my dad against your ex-girlfriend,” she said. “And you looked like you needed some help. That’s what families do, isn’t it? Help each other?”

The conversation turned to other things as Georgie and Chapman and Calliope mapped the stars for the rest of them and Jennifer and Rudyard told increasingly wild tales and Antigone and Madeline exchanged knowing looks that, finally, things were going to be a better kind of different in Piffling Vale. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Only Game In (Very Nearly A) Town](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674967) by [Melanie_D_Peony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony)




End file.
